IN   THE    WAKE    OF   THE 
GREEN    BANNER 


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They  sat  down  in  the  shade  of  a  tamarisk 


IN  THE  WAKE  OF  THE 
GREEN  BANNER 


BY 
EUGENE  PAUL  METOUR 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  E.  M.  ASHE 


9F  THE     * 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 

£*L  IF  OH  Ijlt' 

NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

1909 


atfttufci. 


Copyright,  1909,  by 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Published  May,  1909 


M&3 


3To  $®V  iFatfjer 

In  memory  of  the  Ouaransenis  and  of  those 
happy  years  in  the  Beni-Chougran  moun- 
tains; to  remind  him  of  my  first  impression 
of  color:  the  purple  mass  of  the  Djebel  Antar, 
yet  in  the  light,  while  the  redoubt  at  its  feet 
had  already  sunk  in  the  blue  shade,  and 
the  oval,  vesper  sun,  behind  the  tamarisks, 
gleaming  scarlet  through  the  rose-colored  dust. 


190814 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.      THE  HOUR  OF  ISLAM 1 

II.      A  BERBER  OF  THE   ATLAS 14 

III.  "THE  HORSE  THAT  GOES  TOWARDS  SUNSET"     .  28 

IV.  RUNNING  THE  GAUNTLET  OF  SENUSSIYA      .      .  40 
V.      IN  THE   IMPERIAL   GARDENS 56 

VI.      GAZI 65 

VII.      IN  THE   WILDS   OF  THE  ADRAR 89 

VIII.      THE   LIONS   OF  TILIMSA 107 

IX.      THE  OASIS 117 

X.      AT  THE   FOOT   OF  THE  KASBAH 132 

XI.      WITH  THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  TABLE-LAND  .      .  143 

XII.      THE  GATHERING  OF  ISLAM 155 

XIII.  "WHO  CAN  ACCOUNT  FOR  A  RUMl's 

THOUGHTS?" 164 

XIV.  THE  PREY  THE  OASIS  SENDS  TO  THE  DESERT     .  175 
XV.      THE  VEILED  PEOPLE  OF  THE  LANCE       .      .      .  187 

XVI.      THE  FOURTH  GALON 204 

XVII.      DJEILMA   LETS   FALL  HER  HAIK 227 

vii 


Vlll  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

xviii.  the  eye  of  the  wad-el-haluf  ....  246 

xix.  abd-er-rhaman-es-sheriff 256 

xx.  "paradise    is    under   the    shadow    of 

swords" 269 

xxi.  the  bastion  of  the  wad-el-haluf    .    .    .  289 

xxii.  the  sortie 306 

xxiii.  hands  in  the  salt 316 

xxiv.  the  honors  of  war 330 

xxv.  the  enigmatical  cafard 347 

xxvi.  on  the  tagremaret  road 368 

xxvii.  the  farmhouse  of  ain-guergour   .    .    .  378 

xxviii.  the  thoughts  of  the  night-watch    .     .  387 

xxix.  a  corsican  regulus 398 

xxx.  si-hamza  remembers  his  oath   .     ...  414 

xxxi.  "the  pen  that  writes  without  ink"    .    .  421 

xxxii.  sidi-malik  comes  into  his  own  ....  436 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

They  sat  down  in  the  shade  of  a  tamarisk      .     .     Frontispiece 

FACING   PAGE 

"Aroua  menal    Sidi  d'Ornano!    Sidi  Le'itowi!    Akh 

Arbi" 86 

Then  a  sickening  weakness  stole  over  him 202 

The  mad  woman,  Inshallah! 422 


OF  THI 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 

IN   THE   WAKE   OF   THE 
GREEN   BANNER 

CHAPTER  I 

THE   HOUR   OF  ISLAM 

The  room  was  high  and  wide.  A  trefoil-shaped  opening 
faced  the  door.  Through  the  trefoil  the  glance  swept  the 
European  town.  A  glimpse  through  the  door  revealed  a 
Moorish  peristyle,  a  pergola,  an  Oriental  city  bathed  in 
the  transparencies  of  late  afternoon's  atmosphere,  and  an 
endless  perspective  of  palm  gardens. 

There  was  little  light  in  the  solemn  apartment.  Blue 
on  the  limewash  of  the  vaulted  ceiling,  violet  on  the  pink 
walls  where  the  arabesques  of  a  whimsical  frieze  shone 
with  a  glitter  of  molten  brass,  twilight  shadow  was  the 
true  inmate  of  the  room.  A  thick  Persian  rug  covered  the 
mosaic.    Three  onyx  steps  led  to  an  alcove. 

The  most  conspicuous  piece  of  furniture  was  a  low 
Moorish  bed  of  red  damask  and  green  linen.  A  large 
coffer,  such  as  native  women  use  to  hoard  their  jewels  and 
finery,  standing  close  to  the  wall  and  covered  with  a  leopard- 
skin,  constituted  a  very  decorative,  if  not  a  very  comfortable, 
divan.  Upon  the  rug  of  old-rose  color,  near  an  unlighted 
brasero  of  mediaeval  Spanish  pattern,  a  mandolin  rested  on 
cushions  of  brocade  and  velvet.     Near  by,  a  large  brass 


Z  IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

tray  supported  an  aiguillere.  On  a  small  hexagonal  stool 
of  ebony,  whose  mosaic  top  and  shelves  shone  with  inlaid 
lozenges  and  arabesques  of  silver,  were  tiny  coffee-cups. 
A  heavy  Moorish  lantern  of  green  bronze,  carved  and 
chiselled  with  such  skill  that  it  had  the  effect  of  lace,  hung 
from  the  pendentive  of  the  ceiling.  The  walls  were  bare. 
In  the  corners  the  shadows  were  passing  through  all  the 
changes  Arab  blues  assume  in  the  radiance  of  dusk. 

Lying  on  the  cushions,  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  the 
painter  George  Ley  ton  remained  perfectly  still.  He  almost 
held  his  breath,  fearful  lest  a  slight  noise  should  dissipate 
the  vapor  of  his  dream.  Laden  with  all  the  huerta's 
fragrance,  a  chilly  wind  entered  the  apartment.  Small 
tongues  of  green  and  blue  flames  were  dancing  on  top  of 
the  charcoal  filling  the  Spanish  brasero.  At  the  extremity 
of  its  brass  chain,  its  colored  prisms  of  diamond-cut  glass 
throwing  at  intervals  weird  flashes  on  the  bare  walls  and 
ceiling,  the  heavy  lantern  oscillated  with  the  regularity  of  a 
pendulum.  These  lights  in  movement  on  the  plastering 
forcibly  reminded  the  painter  of  an  effect  of  chiaroscuro  he 
had  observed,  one  stormy  night,  in  the  hold  of  a  smuggling 
schooner,  and  gave  him  the  sensation  of  being  again  aboard 
some  vessel.  He  followed  them  a  moment,  dreaming  of 
the  old  days  of  Mediterranean  pirates,  when  Ibrahim's 
swarthy  Egyptian  sailors,  nude  to  the  waist,  barefoot, 
bejewelled  and  turbaned,  cast  dice  on  a  caramuzeFs  deck, 
losing  and  winning  female  slaves  kidnapped  in  Corfu  or 
Patras. 

His  glance  turned  to  settle  again  on  the  gem  of  which  the 
apartment  was  the  setting.  If  her  race  bore  some  con- 
nection to  her  wearing  apparel,  she  was  a  Moor.     Aureoled 


THE   HOUR  OF  ISLAM  6 

with  pale  colors,  she  had,  under  the  green  gauze  and  the 
frail,  transparent  silks,  the  graceful  curves,  the  robust 
plasticity  and  small  bones  of  an  Ouled-Nail  dancing  girl. 
The  roses  and  lilies  of  her  complexion  were  more  puzzling. 
Her  attire  was  perhaps  less  Moorish  than  Algerine;  since 
the  Turkish  shintiyan  of  scarlet  taffeta,  tied  at  the  waist 
under  a  loose  echarpe  of  white  wool  and  blue  chiffon  dis- 
posed in  parallel  stripes,  left  bare  the  delicate  ankles 
encircled  with  silver  m'sais.  The  r'lila,  a  sort  of  caftan 
made  of  green  brocade,  as  tight-fitting  as  a  Spanish  bolero, 
brought  into  relief  the  lines  of  a  bust  nested  in  the  folds  of 
soft  fabrics.  A  scarf  of  white  pongee,  called  hazam,  was 
wound  several  times  around  the  neck.  Under  a  silver 
hantouz,  the  nut-brown  hair  had  been  twisted  in  a  torsade. 
This  hantouz  gave  the  finishing-touch  to  the  suggestive 
attire  and  recalled  the  conical  hennin  imported  into  Europe 
by  the  wives  of  returning  crusaders. 

After  an  undecided  movement,  the  young  man  raised 
himself  and  went  to  the  door.  Still  the  houri  did  not  move. 
A  book  hung  from  her  fingers.  When  he  took  hold  of  it, 
she  turned  her  head  with  a  smile. 

"I  thought  I  had  read  to  the  last  word  ?"  she  said. 

"Precisely,"  he  replied,  a  touch  of  earnestness  apparent 
under  the  unconcern  of  his  answer.  "That  is  why  I  claim 
the  keepsake.  I  wonder  in  what  mood  you  and  I  will  again 
open  "Azyadeh  "  ?  Or  perhaps,  back  in  New  York,  I  shall 
reopen  it  alone?" 

"Very  likely." 

He  came  forward  and  took  her  hand. 

"Gisele,"  he  said,  "you  will  compel  me  to  believe  that 
you  are  something  of  a  tempter." 


4  IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

"Why  not  say  flirt?"  she  protested,  vainly  attempting  to 
free  herself.  "I  am  a  tempter  because,  yielding  to  your 
entreaties,  I  consented  to  dress  in  the  native  garb  and  be 
the  heroine  of  Loti  for  a  time.  Such  is  the  reward  of  all 
great  sacrifices,  I  suppose  ?  Remembering  that  you  came 
to  Morocco  after  local  color,  I  undertook  to  create  for  you 
a  bit  of  atmosphere.  But  it  was  not  agreed  between  us  that 
you  would  attem»pt  to  kiss  me  at  the  first  opportunity.  No 
doubt  I  am  a  tempter  because  I  did  not  show  you  the  door 
with  a  tragical  gesture.  But,  nevertheless,  you  must  bear 
in  mind  that  even  in  Morocco  big  girls  of  eighteen  may  not 
be  kissed,  no  matter  how  kissable.  The  thing  is  of  a  nature 
to  depreciate  their  value  on  the  matrimonial  market.  Is 
this  clear?" 

"Pellucid." 

"Very  well.  It  is  six  o'clock,  and  there  will  be  music  on 
the  Place  d'Armes.  A  good  dog  follows  his  mistress.  I 
am  going  up-stairs  to  exchange  this  costume  for  something 
mOre  conventional,  and  then  we  shall  turn  like  caged  bears 
around  the  band-stand.     I  shall  be  down  in  five  minutes." 

It  took  her  half  an  hour.  She  came  down  by  way  of  the 
garden,  carrying  an  armful  of  roses.  She  stood  near  the 
door  a  moment,  buttoning  her  long  gloves,  bathed  in  the 
flood  of  powdered  gold  which  fell  on  the  edge  of  the  Persian 
rug,  as  delicately  pink  and  pearly  as  a  sea-shell  fresh  from 
the  surf.  A  look  of  wonder  and  uncertainty  came  in  the 
painter's  eyes.  It  was  a  new  Gisele  who  met  his  glance; 
a  Gisele  in  a  tight-fitting  tailor-made,  becoming,  no  doubt, 
but  whose  formal  stiffness  gave  the  lie  to  something  seen 
in  the  costume  she  had  just  discarded.  In  some  unac- 
countable way,  he  felt  that  she  chose  to  be,  at  this  particu- 


THE   HOUR  OF  ISLAM  5 

lar  moment,  an  altogether  different  girl;  and  he  felt  a  shade 
discontented  that  she  should  thus  be  able  to  step  so  easily 
into  another  self. 

She  brought  him  his  hat  and  cane,  introduced  the  stem 
of  a  rose  in  his  button-hole,  and  motioned  him  to  follow. 
They  crossed  the  garden  and  opened  the  gate. 

Soft  music  and  a  gentle  breeze  added  to  the  charm  of 
that  hour,  Vheure  verte,  Vheure  de  V absinthe,  which  marks 
in  subtropical  climes  the  resumption  of  social  intercourse. 
The  band  of  the  Fourth  Zouaves  was  playing  some  selec- 
tions from  "Fervaal";  and  there  was,  among  the  palms,  a 
va-et~vient  of  women,  many  of  whom  were  pretty,  princi- 
pally the  Spaniards. 

Men  were  not  numerous  in  this  gathering.  The  greater 
part  of  Marakesh's  male  population  was,  at  this  hour,  busy 
around  the  tables  of  the  numerous  cafe's  on  the  Place 
d'Armes.  A  few  very  young  civilians  and  subalterns,  the 
latter  in  full  uniform,  were,  however,  pacing  the  piazza 
to  and  fro.  Although  most  of  them  were,  as  a  rule,  notably 
quiet,  decent  young  fellows  used  to  reddening  to  the  hair 
roots  when  talking  to  a  woman,  they  were  now  loud, 
boisterous  and  seemingly  fond  of  big  cigars,  greeting  with 
bursts  of  exaggerated  hilarity  sallies  merely  mild  or  even 
absurd.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  they  were  wholly  bent  upon 
attracting  the  attention  of  some  particular  girl;  and  under 
penalty  of  being  left  in  the  background,  they  had  to  adjust 
their  manners  to  the  demeanor  of  the  most  forward. 
Leyton  caught  sight  of  a  second  lieutenant  who  was 
quietly  blowing  on  the  stray  locks  of  a  young  girl  in  front  of 
him. 

"Talk  of  flirting,"  he  laughed,  turning  to  his  companion 


6  IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

who  vainly  attempted  to  repress  a  smile.  "If  anything 
was  ever  dependent  upon  climate,  it  is  that.  Why,  it's 
outrageous !  There's  a  young  fellow,  over  there,  who  dared 
blow  on  the  neck  of  an  English  girl;  and  the  lass  gives 
him  her  rose.  Give  them  a  chance,  I  say,  and  girls  will 
turn  to  flirting  as  naturally  as  ducks  to  water.  Of  course, 
it's  no  use  when  you  leave  them  the  freedom  they  enjoy 
at  home.  But  provide  the  large  empty  house  with  latticed 
mucharabiehs,  the  idle  hours  and  the  chaperon.  In  a 
week  they  will  all  turn  Spaniards." 

"They  won't  flirt  so  gracefully,  though,"  said  the  young 
woman  with  just  a  shade  of  hostility  in  her  tone. 

"  I  will  grant  that.  But  perhaps  only  because  they  would 
lack  experience.  Look  at  that  Cadiz  girl,  there,  with  the 
pomegranate  blossom.  What  a  science  in  her  walking! 
She  balances  herself  so  as  to  give  full  value  to  every  curve, 
to  every  line.  Mere  marble  or  bronze  are  not  consistent 
with  so  much  warmth,  energy  and  fire.  No  wonder  old 
Muley-Hassan  does  not  want  any  but  Spaniards  among 
his  dancing  girls!" 

The  muffled  detonation  of  a  gun  interrupted  him.  The 
band  was  now  silent.  From  the  neighboring  minaret  the 
cry  of  the  muezzin  went  up: 

AUah^Akbar! 

It  was  sunset.  The  liturgical  moment,  when  according 
to  the  Koran,  it  becomes  impossible  to  decide  whether  a 
thread  is  white  or  black,  had  arrived.  Under  the  splendid 
sky  of  old-rose  color,  whose  softened  tones  reached  the 
zenith,  Marakesh  was  slowly  sinking  in  the  blue  shadow  of 
its  gardens.  The  limewash  of  the  nearest  houses  had 
assumed  the  frigid  tones  white  walls  take  after  a  rain; 


THE   HOUR  OF  ISLAM  7 

but  the  blue  gray,  softened  by  distance,  became  cobalt  and 
lavender  in  the  succeeding  planes,  so  that  the  houses 
leaning  against  the  ramparts  in  the  background  were 
scarcely  less  pink  than  the  sky.  The  gardens  of  the 
huerta,  now  very  dark,  were  in  striking  contrast  with  the 
clear  tonality  of  the  buildings.  Behind,  their  contours 
now  scarcely  distinguishable  in  the  surging  tide  of  dark- 
ness, vales  and  barren  hills  vanished  towards  the  highlands 
of  the  Atlas.  Sheltered  in  the  midst  of  its  hundred  thou- 
sand palms,  Marakesh  was  an  island,  a  spot  of  light  in  the 
chiaroscuro  of  desert  surroundings.  The  Tensift  River 
mirrored  the  sky's  soft  tones;  and  far,  far  away  to  the 
south,  the  sapphire  circle  of  the  mountain  range,  still  in 
the  light,  sparkled  with  the  thousand  gleams  of  snow- 
clad  summits  sufficiently  high  to  watch,  in  the  neighboring 
ocean,  the  agony  of  the  sun. 

With  a  singing  and  monotonous  voice,  the  crowd  of  the 
Faithful  assembled  on  the  housetops  repeated  in  chorus 
the  sacramental  sentence,  credo  of  a  fatalistic  congregation 
which  seems  to  awake  only  to  exalt  the  omnipotence  of 
the  God  of  Ishmael. 

"Allah  Akbar!     Ya  illah  U  Allah!" 

The  hour  of  Islam!  The  wind  carried  the  soul  of  one 
of  the  great  religions  of  the  world.  This  call  to  the  fatha 
had  begun  at  the  confines  of  Thibet  seven  hours  before, 
and  had  come  across  India,  Afghanistan,  Persia,  Turkey 
in  Asia  and  Egypt,  awaking  as  it  went  the  echoes  of  an 
unforgotten  past.  It  would  die  here  in  Moghrib,  checked 
in  its  march  by  the  ocean  which  had  opposed  to  Sidi- 
Okba's  victorious  hordes  the  barrier  of  green  waves 
pregnant  with  sharks  and  sudden  storms.     Allah  Akbar  1 


8     IN  THE  WAKE  OF  THE  GREEN  BANNER 

On  all  the  housetops,  men  were  at  this  minute  looking 
towards  the  Holy  Places,  while  women,  crowding  them- 
selves at  the  foot  of  each  staircase,  awaited  impatiently 
the  muezzin's  departure  to  take  possession  of  the  azoteas 
for  the  rest  of  the  evening. 

The  band  struck  the  tune  of  the  "Paloma."  A  strange 
fragrance,  odor  di  femina,  eucalyptus  and  pepper-trees, 
grew  more  pungent  as  darkness  increased.  The  sensuality 
of  subtropical  climes  was  already  abroad,  apparent  in  the 
louder-voiced  comments  of  the  men,  their  bolder  stares 
and  the  insidious  provocation  in  women's  attitudes.  A 
hush  had  fallen.  The  southern  game  is  cautious  and 
dangerously  silent.  Who  wins,  wins  on  his  nerve.  Where 
rivalry  is  so  keen  and  jealousy  so  prevalent,  Don  Juan 
must,  of  necessity,  take  a  chance.  The  Spaniards  in  the 
audience  despised  fisticuffs  as  fit  only  for  clowns,  and  half 
their  sweethearts  had  knives  hidden  in  their  stockings. 

The  feeling  of  languor  was  eminently  contagious. 
Leyton,  sinking  under  the  hypnotic  spell,  stole  swift  glances 
at  his  companion.  Gisele  appeared  listless,  frigid  and  a 
prey  to  the  melancholy  of  "Cre'puscule  Triste,"  the 
symphony  the  band  was  now  playing.  The  young  man, 
feeling  that  the  hunger  his  eye  had  discovered  in  the  search- 
ing looks  of  others  loaded  the  atmosphere  as  electricity 
loads  a  Leyden-jar,  wondered  at  her  absent-mindedness. 
A  strikingly  handsome  Spanish  girl,  who  had  been  coming 
towards  them  and  whose  longing,  insistent  glance  passed 
between  his  companion  and  himself,  turned  abruptly 
with  a  flap  of  her  velvet  skirts. 

A  low  chuckle  behind  made  him  turn  his  head.  He 
caught  a  lieutenant  of  spahis  in  the  act  of  picking  up  a 


THE   HOUR  OF  ISLAM  9 

silken  handkerchief  fallen  from  the  belt  of  the  Spaniard. 
His  companion,  a  young  captain  of  the  Foreign  Legion, 
attracted  and  retained  the  painter's  attention.  Such 
firmness  of  determination  blazed  in  the  calm  glance,  the 
leonine  forehead  was  so  resplendent  with  intellect,  that  the 
American  stared  at  the  unknown  almost  with  rudeness. 
The  lieutenant  of  spahis  had  unfolded  a  note  found  in 
the  handkerchief. 

He  rapidly  perused  it.  "  This  is  meant  for  you,  I  think," 
he  said,  tendering  the  paper  to  his  friend  with  an  equivocal 
smile. 

The  captain  took  the  message,  crumpled  it  and  tossed 
it  away,  unread. 

"Let  us  take  the  side  alley,"  he  replied.  "We  shall  be 
quieter." 

Then  Leyton  noticed  that  at  the  sound  of  his  voice 
Gisele  turned  around  with  a  start.  Both  officers  saluted 
rigidly. 

When  they  had  passed,  the  painter  inquired,  without 
indicating  which  of  the  officers  he  meant. 

"Who  is  he?" 

Gisele's  answer  was  almost  disdainful. 

"Captain  d'Ornano,"  she  said.  "A  Corsican,  a  great 
man  and  a  woman-hater.  He  is  papa's  officier  d'ordonnance. 
The  other  man  is  Lieutenant  de  Vaudreuil,  who  waltzes 
to  perfection  and  wears  the  civilian  garb  remarkably  well, 
as  you  can  see.  Just  now  vou  saw  them  in  characteristic 
r61es." 

"How  is  that?" 

"  Can't  you  guess  ?  It's  really  very  simple.  Convinced 
that  warfare  and  love-making  are  inconsistent,   Captain 


10    IN  THE  WAKE  OF  THE  GREEN  BANNER 

(TOrnano  shows  the  disdain  of  a  conquering  pasha  for 
mere  women;  while  de  Vaudreuil,  the  Haephestion  of  this 
Alexander,  is  always  ready  to  patch  up  and  repair  for  his 
own  use  the  crushed  feminine  admirations  strewing  the 
road  behind  the  triumphal  cart  of  his  friend.  You  have 
witnessed  the  incident  of  the  handkerchief?  Vaudreuil 
knows  well  that  at  d'Ornano's  side  he  shines  with  the 
reflected  light  of  a  satellite.  The  other  is  far  too  intelligent 
not  to  see  through  this  game;  but  his  Corsican  self- 
worship  is  lonely  and  requires  a  high  priest.  Nothing 
extraordinary  in  this,  mind  you!  Achilles  had  Patroclus, 
Orestes  Pylades  and  Hercules  Philoctetes. 

"Strange  girl!"  thought  Ley  ton.  How  painstakingly 
artificial  of  expression  and  French  of  thought,  in  spite  of 
the  temperament  inherited  from  an  American  mother! 
Level-headed,  no  doubt,  but  how  acrobatic  in  her  balance! 
Her  opinions  reflected  the  literary  fashions;  her  attitudes 
and  costumes  borrowed  their  stiff  charm  and  subdued 
splendor  from  Byzantine  mosaics.  Her  feelings  .  .  .  He 
realized  that,  as  yet,  he  was  remotely  located  from  her 
confidence,  and  that  since  her  childhood  she  had  been 
taught  to  conceal  her  real  self.  All  he  was  allowed  to 
glance  upon  were  the  exquisitely  artful  movements  of  the 
puppet.  Perhaps,  after  all,  the  real  Gisele  was  little  more 
than  a  compound  of  theories  and  learned  phrases.  He 
inquired  absent-mindedly: 

"You  did  not  tell  me  what  made  Captain  d'Ornano 
such  a  great  man  ?  He  has  a  remarkable  face,  a  Caesarian 
face,  I  am  tempted  to  say,  and  it  did  not  escape  my  notice 
that  he  wore  the  cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor.  I  am 
aware  that  every  Frenchman  gets  that  in  time,  but  when 


THE   HOUR  OF  ISLAM  11 

he  earns  it  before  he  is  thirty,  he  must,  necessarily,  have 
done  things.     Where  did  he  get  that  scar  on  the  forehead  ?  " 

"  Oh,  somewhere,  between  the  Tchad  and  Tripoli,"  she 
replied  with  affected  carelessness.  "  He  was  with  Monnier, 
you  know.  It  was  he  who  led  the  command  back  to  the 
coast  after  Commandant  Monnier  and  Captain  Trafeli 
were  murdered  by  the  Tuaregg.  They  started  two 
hundred  and  five,  and  he  managed  to  bring  one  hundred 
and  ninety-eight  of  them  back  to  the  coast  after  having 
covered  four  hundred  leagues  and  fought  the  Tuaregg 
back  eighteen  times.  This  in  itself  is  remarkable,  but 
the  most  extraordinary  part  of  the  performance  is  that 
Captain  d'Ornano  succeeded  in  mapping  the  country 
despite  the  opposition  of  the  nomads  and  was  able  to  prove 
to  the  War  Department  that  in  every  action  he  managed 
to  fight  on  ground  of  his  own  choosing.  What  time  is  it, 
by  the  way  ?    We  must  be  home  for  supper." 

It  was  seven  o'clock.  The  band  had  departed  and  the 
Place  d'Armes  was  now  deserted.  The  moon  was  some- 
where, invisible  yet.  There  were  no  stars.  Leyton,  who 
had  been  absently  poking  a  palm-tree  with  his  cane, 
wheeled  around  as  he  saw  his  companion  retrace  her 
steps.  Two  officers  in  uniform  had  been  approaching 
behind  them.  The  older  man  was  General  Barge  de 
Diolie,  Gisele's  father.  The  younger  was  the  captain  of 
the  Legion  who  had  made  so  deep  an  impression  upon  the 
painter. 

"Here  is  your  man,  George,"  said  the  General  by  way 
of  presentation.  "What  Captain  d'Ornano  doesn't  know 
about  Morocco,  nobody  knows.  He  will  answer  your 
questions,  and  will,  I  trust,  hammer  some  common  sense 


12  IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

into  your  head.  Shake  hands  with  my  nephew,  d'Ornano. 
This  is  the  specimen  who  intends  to  go  and  paint  the 
palm  gardens  of  the  Draa  River." 

After  four  years  in  London,  in  the  studio  of  Latimer 
Morpes,  of  the  Royal  Academy,  George  Leyton  had 
landed  in  Morocco  by  accident,  chiefly  because  Tangier 
is  so  near  Gibraltar.  His  goal  had  been  Benare"s.  When 
the  P.  &  O.  liner  left  Gibraltar  without  him  at  the  time 
he  was  busy  buying  trinkets  in  Tangier,  he  happened  to 
remember  that  he  possessed  in  Marakesh  an  uncle  and  a 
cousin. 

This  was  not  his  first  meeting  with  Gisele.  Two  years 
previously,  when  Mme.  de  Diolie  was  still  living,  he  had 
renounced  his  project  of  a  holiday  in  the  Norwegian 
fjords,  to  answer  the  summons  of  his  mother  who  called 
him  home  for  the  summer.  On  Long  Island  he  had  met 
his  aunt  and  his  cousin,  a  girl  of  sixteen.  Gisele  was  then 
blossoming  into  girlhood,  and  the  twenty- two-year-old 
youngster  had  easily  persuaded  himself  that  his  duty  was 
to  fall  in  love  with  her.  This  he  did  conscientiously. 
Gisele,  just  out  of  the  convent,  evinced  an  eager  disposition 
to  make  the  most  of  the  freedom  she  was  allowed  on 
American  soil,  and  took  advantage  of  the  opportunity 
to  engage  in  an  innocent  flirtation  with  her  cousin.  During 
the  six  months  following  her  return  home,  letters  had 
travelled  between  London  and  North  Africa  regularly. 
Then  an  abrupt  silence  had  come.  It  was  not  of  the  girl's 
seeking.  Her  admirer  had  developed  an  interest  in  a  girl 
student  with  ambitions  and  high-flown  theories  who 
married  a  year  later  and  forgot  all  about  painting. 


THE   HOUR  OF  ISLAM  13 

In  the  meantime,  Mme.  de  Diolie  had  died,  the  French 
had  invaded  Morocco,  and  General  de  Diolie  had  received 
the  command  of  the  troops  stationed  in  Marakesh.  The 
day  Leyton  found  himself  watching  the  Empress  of  India 
as  she  furrowed  her  way  seaward  in  a  cloud  of  black  smoke, 
he  reflected  that  after  all  he  was  not  so  much  going  to 
India  as  leaving  England,  where  painting  by  gaslight  had 
become  distasteful.  But  a  real  sun  shone  over  Morocco. 
Determined  to  try  the  experiment,  the  would-be  Orientalist 
boarded  an  English  boat  for  Mogador  and,  a  week  later, 
made  an  unexpected  appearance  in  Marakesh. 

This  was  two  weeks  since.  He  had  begun  preparations 
for  future  work.  His  plans  included  an  expedition  across 
the  Adrar  with  the  object  of  painting  the  fabulous  gardens 
of  the  Draa  River.  This  project,  it  is  true,  was  still  in  the 
embryonic  state.  General  de  Diolie  intended  that  it 
should  remain  so  for  a  time.  Hence  the  request  he  had 
made  of  Captain  d'Ornano  to  acquaint  Leyton  fully  with 
the  dangers  of  such  an  expedition,  and  furnish  him  all  the 
information  necessary  to  carry  it  to  a  successful  end,  if  he 
should  decide  to  undertake  it. 


CHAPTER  II 

A  BERBER  OP  THE  ATLAS 

Since  Marakesh,  after  the  foolish  expenditures  of  Muley- 
Hassan,  who  had  squandered  five  millions  sterling  in  the 
building  of  mosques,  giant  caravanseries  and  palaces,  had 
become  the  jewel  of  Islam,  it  had  taken  the  place  of  Cairo 
as  a  winter  resort.  From  September  to  May,  the  foreign 
colony,  wholly  bent  on  pleasure,  was  numerous.  The 
climate  at  least  equalled  that  of  Egypt,  and  the  unsurpassed 
beauty  of  the  surrounding  foot-hills  was  an  inducement 
altogether  lacking  in  the  valley  of  the  Nile.  The  rapid 
growth  of  the  city  had,  moreover,  advertised  it  as  a  paradise 
for  speculators.  Marakesh  had  boomed  as  never  city 
boomed  before.  Not  because  oil  or  rich  ore  had  been 
discovered,  but  because  an  exceedingly  fanciful  Sultan  had 
undertaken  to  transplant  bodily  the  population  of  one  of 
his  capitals  to  the  other.  Fez,  ever  threatened  by  the 
rebellious  Riata  and  Zimour,  who  did  not  scruple  to  appear 
in  force  within  sight  of  the  ramparts  and  boldly  kidnap 
women,  had  been  left  an  almost  deserted  town,  while 
Marakesh  had  swollen  in  fifteen  months  from  one  hundred 
and  twenty  thousand  to  three  hundred  thousand  inhabi- 
tants. It  was  indeed  wonderful  that  a  monarch,  who 
seemed  shorn  of  every  vestige  of  power,  could  successfully 

carry  through  such  a  scheme.     But  the  underlying  force 

14 


A   BERBER  OF  THE   ATLAS  15 

which  had  made  the  move  possible  was  so  smooth  in  its 
workings  as  not  to  attract  the  attention.  The  Sultan  got 
all  the  credit  where  none  whatever  belonged  to  him. 
The  Jews,  who  had  suggested  and  financed  the  undertak- 
ing, feared  and  loathed  the  prophets  of  the  north,  who 
talked  of  bleeding  the  children  of  Jacob  for  funds  to  under- 
take a  holy  war  against  the  French.  They  had,  as  a 
consequence,  made  a  last  effort  to  save  the  Sultan  who 
represented  the  lesser  evil. 

However,  the  expensive  whims  of  the  spendthrift  had 
soon  thrown  them  into  convulsions,  and  they  had  had 
recourse  to  another  scheme.  As  a  preliminary  move,  they 
had  closed  their  purses  to  Muley-Hassan;  they  had  paid 
countless  provocation  agents  and  had  relied  on  their 
Algerine  brethren  to  raise  the  howl  of  murder.  Cosmopol- 
itan Israel  was  soon  dictating  to  the  French  government 
the  course  it  ought  to  follow;  no  less  prompt  to  urge  it 
forward  in  the  name  of  humanity  than  to  point  out  the  fact 
that  Germany  might  see  her  chance  to  jump  into  the 
troubled  waters.  When  it  was  talked  in  Paris  of  extending 
to  the  Moorish  Jews  the  citizenship  already  enjoyed  by 
their  Algerine  brethren,  pandemonium  was  let  loose  in 
Morocco.  It  was  then  that  the  French,  bound  to  restore 
order,  had  put  their  African  army  on  the  move.  They 
became  masters  of  Fez  in  a  fortnight  and  of  Marakesh  in 
a  month. 

But  if  the  overthrow  of  the  Arab  power  in  the  plains  of 
western  Morocco  proved  an  easy  task  to  the  French  arms, 
it  went  quite  otherwise  with  the  independent  tribes  of  the 
mountainous  Bled-es-Sibla.  The  Berber  strongholds  of 
the  Atlas  were  the  hornet's  nest  French  policy  had  perma- 


16    IN  THE  WAKE  OF  THE  GREEN  BANNER 

nently  decided  to  avoid.  Attempts  at  raiding  the  more 
peaceful  populations  of  the  valleys  had  brought  stern 
repression  on  their  originators;  but  the  Berbers  remained 
masters  of  their  mountain  passes.  As  a  result  of  this  policy 
of  economy,  the  ferment  of  insurrection  was  left  to  work 
freely  in  the  anarchical  highlands,  where  secret  societies 
and  religious  brotherhoods  kept  up  the  agitation. 

The  basis  of  Moslem  society  being  religious  obedience, 
it  was  natural  that  all  the  brotherhoods  established  in  the 
mountains  should  draw  their  inspiration  from  the  national 
junta.  The  Senussiya  had  so  far  outgrown  all  the  other 
sects,  that  they  had  become  a  sort  of  carbonari  society 
whose  influence  was  truly  national.  In  Morocco,  the 
Sultan's  authority  had  never  been  based  altogether  on 
brute  force.  It  was  a  mitigated  despotism  less  temporal 
than  religious.  Theoretically,  the  Sultan,  a  reputed  de- 
scendant of  the  prophet,  reigned  because  he  was  the  holiest 
of  holy  men.  But  if  anything  in  his  conduct  gave  rise  to 
the  suspicion  that  he  did  not  follow  to  the  letter  the 
Koran's  minutest  precept,  the  religious  body  organized 
the  opposition,  and  disaffection,  followed  by  open  revolt, 
marked  the  rise  of  a  new  pretender.  The  coming  of  the 
French  had  not  altered  this  state  of  affairs.  The  most 
turbulent  part  of  the  population:  ulemas,  imans,  muez- 
zins, marabouts,  professors  and  students  in  theology,  had, 
it  is  true,  learned  caution.  But  they  all  belonged  to  the 
order  of  the  Senussiya;  and  the  Kutubia  mosque  was  still 
the  birthplace  of  conspiracies  which  had  lost  nothing  of 
their  efficiency  for  being  directed  against  Muley-Hassan, 
a  usurper  whom  the  poisoning  of  his  cousin  had  placed  on 
the  throne,  and  the  foreign  foe  that  upheld  him. 


A   BERBER  OF  THE   ATLAS  17 

As  it  was  pointed  out  to  the  painter  in  the  conversation 
which  took  place  at  table,  crossing  the  Atlas  range  in  times 
of  agitation  was  fraught  with  dangers  it  would  be  foolhardy 
to  face.  It  was  true  that  to  reach  the  Draa  it  was  not  at  all 
necessary  to  speak  the  Berber  dialects — they  were  so 
numerous  and  differed  so  widely  that  members  of  adjoining 
tribes  often  failed  to  understand  each  other — but  an  exten- 
sive knowledge  of  Arabic  was  required.  He  would  have  to 
conceal  his  faith,  and  even  if  he  succeeded  in  passing 
himself  off  as  a  Moslem,  he  would  be  unable  to  paint, 
since  the  Koran  forbids  the  reproduction  of  living  things. 

As  he  listened  to  d'Ornano's  explanations,  Leyton  won- 
dered at  Gisele's  behavior.  Throughout  the  meal  she 
seemed  intent  on  laughing  at  d'Ornano's  expense.  She 
affected  to  believe  that  the  Corsican  painted  the  situation 
blacker  than  it  really  was,  because,  having  himself  suc- 
ceeded in  crossing  the  range,  he  wanted  to  impress  upon 
his  public  the  difficulty  of  the  feat.  By  his  silence, 
d'Ornano  plainly  intimated  that  he  held  the  opinions  of 
the  young  woman  to  be  wholly  negligible.  Then,  as  the 
conversation  took  a  new  turn,  he  found  himself  in  disagree- 
ment with  the  General  himself. 

He  had  just  expressed  the  view  that  the  untrammelled 
freedom  the  French  government  allowed  the  mountain 
tribes  was  a  political  as  well  as  a  military  mistake.  The 
General  turned  to  Leyton. 

"D'Ornano  is  so  anxious  to  add  a  fourth  galon  to  the 
three  he  already  possesses  that  he  dreams  only  of  involving 
his  country  in  bloody  war,"  he  vouchsafed  by  way  of 
explanation.  "For  my  part,  I  am  absolutely  convinced 
that  the  Berbers  can  never  be  more  than  an  annoyance. 


18  IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

Able  men,  like  the  Abd-el-Khader  of  seventy  years  ago, 
could  not  to-day  lead  them  to  victory.  And  where  is  the 
military  genius  who  could  drill  their  lawless  harkas  and 
mahallas  into  regular  armies?  A  German  instructor  of 
Turkish  troops  could  not  hope  to  command  their  confidence. 
What  they  need  is  a  Von  Moltke  who  would  at  the  same 
time  be  a  national  chief." 

"Granted,"  interrupted  d'Ornano.  "But  a  man  such 
as  you  describe  is  living." 

"  If  he  is,  I  don't  know  him." 

"Precisely.  But  what  if  I  gave  you  the  proof  that  the 
Jugurtha  to  whom  I  refer  is  only  awaiting,  before  beginning 
operations,  the  word  of  his  Senussi  friends." 

"  I  await  your  proofs,"  said  the  General  incredulously. 

D'Ornano  reddened.     He  turned  to  the  native  servant. 

"Ali,"  he  ordered,  "run  to  the  caravansery  of  Yacoob, 
in  old  Marakesh.  Ask  for  Sidi-Malik,  son  of  Hachem; 
and  tell  him  to  come  here  fissa  bezef." 

The  chaouch  left  the  room.     Gisele  chuckled. 

"This  is  pure  melodrama,  Monsieur  d'Ornano,"  she 
exclaimed.  "Had  I  known  you  possessed  such  a  keen 
understanding  of  the  principles  of  the  raise  en  scene,  I 
should  have  written  your  name  below  that  of  your  friend 
de  Vaudreuil,  on  my  list  of  eligibles  for  amateur  theatricals. 
Who  is  Sidi-Malik?" 

"An  ex-caravan  master,"  replied  the  Corsican,  turning 
to  Leyton  with  an  obvious  determination  to  ignore  the 
taunt.  "Before  we  seized  Morocco  and  put  a  stop  to 
slavery,  he  made  some  money,  I  believe.  But  you  know 
the  usual  failing  of  the  camel-driver  ?  A  woman,  or  maybe 
two,  spent  his  money  faster  than  he  made  it.     Monnier 


A   BERBER  OF  THE   ATLAS  19 

found  him  on  a  street  corner  of  Tlemcen,  famished  and  so 
destitute  that  he  possessed  only  one  burnous — mostly  holes 
and  vermin  at  that.  He  gave  him  a  job.  Sidi-Malik  is 
as  full  of  vices  as  he  is  riddled  with  small-pox;  but  he  has  a 
magnificent  nerve,  and  he  is  a  true  elephant-hunter.  I 
saw  him  time  and  again  jump  from  his  horse  in  full  career 
and  attack  the  elephant  on  foot,  alone  and  with  nothing 
but  a  short  sword.  After  a  while  we  became  good  friends. 
I  brought  him  back  with  the  others,  after  the  massacre  of 
Monnier  and  Trafeli,  and  as  a  scout  he  did  wonders. 
As  he  seemed  very  much  attached  to  me,  I  felt  something 
like  a  shock  when  I  learned  that  he*  had  left  us  without  a 
word  the  morning  after  we  reached  El-Golea.  I  found 
him  here  two  months  ago.  He  found  me,  rather.  What 
do  you  think  he  was  doing?" 

"You  can  make  such  wild  guesses  in  this  country  and 
still  remain  within  the  range  of  things  which  are  considered 
tame,  that  we  had  better  give  it  up,"  answered  the  General. 
"You  seem  to  have  something  enormous  in  mind." 
"I  am  afraid  I  have.  Where  is  Khadour?" 
He  referred  to  the  second  servant.  It  was  Gisele  who 
replied. 

"He  went  to  the  kitchen,  I  believe.  Why  do  you  ask ?" 
"  I  wanted  to  make  sure  that  he  was  not  within  hearing, 
that's  all.  I  will  trust  Ali,  who  is  an  old  soldier,  but  not 
Khadour.  The  Senussiya  have  excellent  spies,  and  I  do 
not  want  Sidi-Malik  to  find  a  cobra  in  his  bed  or  a  strangler 
behind  his  door.  It's  all  he  deserves,  and,  ultimately,  he 
will  have  to  face  that  sort  of  thing;  but,  if  I  can  help  it, 
it  will  not  be  before  he  has  given  me  enough  information 
to  hang  a  few  dozens  of  these  rascals.     When  I  met  him, 


20    IN  THE  WAKE  OF  THE  GREEN  BANNER 

a  month  ago,  he  was  blackmailing  the  Sultan.  In  some 
unaccountable  way  he  had  become  possessed  of  the  knowl- 
edge that  Muley-Hassan  had  succeeded — I  hate  to  think 
of  the  cost  of  the  experience,  by  the  way! — in  leading  away 
from  her  duties  the  wife  of  a  foreign  consul.  He  took  the 
trouble  to  collect  proofs,  made  sure  that  one  government 
was  disposed  to  pay  dear  for  the  discreditable  information, 
and  went  straight  to  the  grand  eunuch  with  talk  of  inter- 
national scandal.  Old  Muley-Hassan  is  no  longer  what 
he  used  to  be;  but  he  still  has  enough  power  left  to  send 
people,  minus  a  head,  to  rot  in  the  tall  reeds  growing  on 
the  banks  of  the  irrigating  canals.  Sidi-Malik  is  so  wide 
awake  and  knows  so  well  how  to  make  it  known  that  he 
actually  scared  the  old  man.  He  got  two  hundred  douros 
a  month  and  the  virtual  assurance  that  he  would  be  left 
unmolested  if  he  attempted  blackmail  on  the  rich  men  of 
the  town.  This  was  a  bait,  you  understand.  But  Sidi- 
Malik  deceived  all  expectations  by  refraining  from  availing 
himself  of  the  privilege.  No  virtue  here,  of  course.  A 
proverb  says  that  fear  is  the  beginning  of  wisdom;  and 
Sidi-Malik  has  a  tremendous  amount  of  respect  for  the 
Resident  General." 

"He  had  better,"  grumbled  General  de  Diolie  between 
two  bites. 

"Yes,  he  had  better.  But  if  you  believe  that  even  fear 
is  going  to  stop  him  you  are  sadly  in  the  wrong.  He 
completed  a  new  scheme,  and  this  is  how  we  fell  to- 
gether." 

"Allow  me  to  extend  my  congratulations,"  exploded 
the  irrepressible  Gisele.  "Anything  as  big  as  the  black- 
mail plan?" 


A   BERBER  OF  THE   ATLAS  21 

This  time  cPOrnano  consented  to  smile.  The  sarcasm 
had  failed  to  penetrate. 

"Far  bigger,  as  you  will  see.  Sidi-Malik  is  a  kind  of 
Asmodeus  endowed  with  the  universal  knowledge  of  other 
people's  most  secret  thoughts.  He  has — Heaven  knows 
by  what  devious  channels! — reached  the  conviction  that 
Muley-Hassan's  life  is  none  too  secure;  and,  of  course,  he 
is  aware  that  his  pension  stops  the  day  the  Sultan  dies. 
This  is  point  number  one.  In  point  number  two,  he 
figured  that  if  he  could  make  a  friend  of  the  Resident 
General,  he  not  only  would  keep  his  pension,  but  that  no 
power  in  Moghrib  would  be  able  to  stop  him.  He  came 
to  ask  me  to  fill  the  gap  between  the  two  propositions." 

"What  did  he  want  exactly?"  interrupted  General  de 
Diolie. 

"Nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  promise  to  take  him  to 
the  Resident  General.     I  told  him  I  could  not  do  that." 

"What  happened  then?" 

"  He  told  me  a  few  things  that  fairly  made  me  gasp.  I 
promised  him  I  would  speak  to  you.  ..." 

A  scream  of  terror  from  Gisele  made  everybody  turn. 
The  girl  was  now  laughing  hysterically,  amused  almost  to 
tears  by  the  extraordinary  appearance  of  the  trio  framed 
in  the  open  door.  Ali  came  first,  his  well-trained  servant 
gravity  enhancing  the  preposterousness  of  the  couple  he 
was  about  to  usher  in.  These  two  personages  still  stood 
in  the  half  gloom  of  the  veranda,  against  a  background  of 
frantic  cypresses  of  absolute  blackness  under  a  full  moon 
and  a  turquoise  sky.  One  was  a  giant  negro  in  white 
gandourah  and  red  fez,  a  prodigious  smile  frozen  on  the 
ivory  gleaming  between  his  thick  lips.     In  his  knotty  fist 


22  IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

he  grabbed  a  matrack,  the  formidable  bludgeon  in  use 
among  Berbers.  His  companion  was  Sidi-Malik  himself. 
The  camel-driver  had,  for  the  time  being,  assumed  the 
personage  of  an  old  negress,  and  his  make-up,  remarkable 
from  a  realistic  standpoint,  reached  the  limits  of  the 
comical.  He  had  piled  on  top  of  each  other  the  pieces  of  a 
monkey's  outfit,  crazy  garments  of  an  irritating  color 
whose  patchings  were  as  indescribable  as  they  were  pictu- 
resque. He  seemed  rather  short;  but  the  breadth  of  his 
body  at  the  shoulders  made  up  for  his  lack  of  stature. 
Altogether  he  was  of  powerful,  compact  build,  bow-legged, 
like  a  thorough  horseman,  and  bearing  a  strong  likeness  to 
a  Tartar. 

"Where  art  thou  coming  from,  thus  garbed  as  the  black 
daughter  of  a  black  devil  ?"  asked  the  Captain  as  soon  as 
the  hilarity  of  all  began  to  subside.  "In  the  first  place, 
where  didst  thou  ever  get  such  a  dress  ?" 

At  this  Sidi-Malik  looked  the  part  of  the  actor  who  meets 
with  eggs  of  mature  age  where  he  had  expected  applause. 
Then  he  examined  his  raiment  critically. 

"Inshallah!"  he  answered  at  last.  "I  brought  it  back 
with  me  all  the  way  from  Sokoto.  Dost  thou  remember  the 
old  woman  we  found  sitting  near  a  little  child,  in  a  deserted 
court-yard  of  the  village  of  Kong-Koro,  the  evening  of  the 
day  we  fought  with  the  slave-traders  of  Tipoo-Salam?" 

"Well?" 

"I  gave  her  figs  to  eat.  She  sold  me  these  and  also 
charms  against  the  evil  eye.  She  said  they  had  once  been 
worn  by  the  Sultana.  It  was  two  years  ago,  Sidi,  and  two 
years  is  time  enough  for  garments  to  lose  their  color  and 
look  meskeen" 


A   BERBER   OF  THE   ATLAS  23 

"Yes,  they  look  meskeen,  to  be  sure,"  d'Ornano  re- 
sumed with  a  gravity  which  caused  everybody  to  roar. 
"  But  it  must  have  been  a  good  bargain  at  the  time.  Thou 
didst  not  steal  the  garments,  by  any  chance?  No?  All 
right.     Answer  my  question." 

"What  question,  Sidi?" 

"Where  didst  thou  go  this  evening?" 

"Oh!  I  went  to  the  Hamam." 

D'Ornano  looked  at  General  de  Diolie  with  widening 
eyes. 

"Why ! "  he  said.     " This  is  Wednesday,  isn't  it ? " 

"Yes,  Wednesday." 

"By  Jove!  And  this  fellow  tells  us  he  is  coming  back 
from  the  Public  Baths.     This  is  women's  day." 

The  thing  was  so  enormous  that  even  Gisele  forgot  to 
smile.  She  looked  with  increasing  wonder  at  the  phenome- 
non who  not  only  had  dared  undertake  what  not  one  man 
in  twenty  thousand  would  attempt,  but  who  readily  ac- 
knowledged the  fact. 

"  Allah  kerim  I "  ejaculated  d'Ornano.  "  To  the  Hamam ! 
But  why?  Surely  thou  didst  not  run  such  a  risk  for  a 
pastime?  How  didst  thou  get  out?  They  must  have 
compelled  thee  to  undress  before  entering  the  beitoual." 

Sidi-Malik  shook  his  head  in  denegation. 

"  No,  Sidi.  I  learned  what  I  wanted  without  having  to 
go  so  far." 

Gisele  had  risen.  They  all  left  the  table  and  passed  into 
the  adjoining  room.  Ali  brought  the  coffee.  He  was  then 
ordered  to  lead  the  negro  to  the  kitchen  and  give  him  food. 
Sidi-Malik,  nothing  daunted,  sat  himself  cross-legged  in 
the  middle  of  the  rug.     D'Ornano  pushed  towards  him 


24  IN  THE   WAKE    OF  THE    GREEN   BANNER 

the  hexagonal  stool  on  which  coffee  was  steaming  in  tiny 
cups. 

"Here,"  he  said,  "take  some  khaoua,  and  tell  us  what 
prompted  thee  to  take  such  a  chance.  All  who  are  here 
can  be  trusted.  I  take  it  that  thou  wert  after  information 
of  some  kind.  Didst  thou  go  to  the  Hamam  to  learn 
anything  connected  with  the  conversation  we  had  last 
night?" 

"Judge  for  thyself,  Sidi,"  the  camel-driver  answered. 
"A  woman  of  the  harem  told  me  that  an  attempt  to  poison 
the  Sultan  was  made  yesterday  afternoon.  A  eunuch  has 
been  bowstrung  for  it.  This  is  the  third  attempt  of  this 
kind  in  two  weeks.  What  shall  we  do?  Muley-Hassan 
will  die  unless  I  can  speak  to  the  Resident  General." 

D'Ornano  exchanged  a  look  with  his  chief.  The  Gen- 
eral asked  sharply: 

"Who  are  those  who  have  an  interest  in  seeking  Muley- 
Hassan'slife?" 

"  The  Senussiya.     Who  else,  Sidi  ?  " 

"Why  ?  When  Muley-Hassan  dies,  the  French  will  put 
whom  they  will  please  in  his  place;  and  they  will  take  care 
that  his  successor  is  not  an  enemy.  The  Senussiya  know 
this." 

"They  know  it,  Sidi.  Everybody  in  Moghrib  knows 
that  Muley-Aziz  is  in  the  French  school  and  will  come 
home  so  full  of  the  strength  of  the  Rumis  that  when  he 
becomes  sultan  he  will  do  just  as  the  Rumis  tell  him.  But 
Moghrib  knows,  too,  that  old  Muley-Hassan  does  not  like 
the  Nazarenes.  He  is  useless  now;  but  his  death  can 
serve  a  purpose.  If  he  is  found  dead,  one  morning,  the 
Senussiya  will  say  that  the  French  poisoned  him  in  order 


A   BERBEE  OF  THE   ATLAS  25 

to  put  their  friend  Muley-Aziz  in  his  place.  Then  every 
man  in  Moghrib  will  take  arms  to  uphold  the  right  of 
Abd-er-Rhaman.  Abd-er-Rhaman  is  the  true  and  only 
Commander  of  the  Faithful." 

"Of  whom  is  he  speaking?"  the  General  asked  of  d'Or- 
nano  with  a  look  of  surprise.  "Not  Abd-er-Rhaman  the 
son  of  Mustapha-el-Murthadi,  surely?" 

"The  same,"  answered  the  Captain.  "And  the  very 
leader  of  men  whose  existence  you  denied  earlier  in  the 
evening.  You  are  all  witnesses  that  I  did  not  invent  him. 
As  Muley-Hassan  has  always  been  looked  upon  as  a 
usurper,  it  follows  that  Abd-er-Rhaman  is  the  true  and 
only  Commander  of  the  Faithful." 

"  Perhaps  he  is,"  the  General  went  on.  "  But  it  is  nearly 
twenty  years  since  his  family  ceased  to  reign,  and  that's  a 
very  long  time.  What  do  the  Senussiya  propose  to  do? 
Abd-er-Rhaman  is  to-day  a  sirdar  in  the  army  of  the 
Khedive  and  he  is  stationed  on  the  Syrian  border.  The 
English  would  keep  him  a  prisoner  in  Egypt  if  there  was 
trouble  in  Morocco." 

Here  Sidi-Malik  interrupted. 

"Who  says  they  will?" 

"I  say  so,"  snapped  the  General.  "The  English  would 
fear  that  an  insurrection  in  Moghrib  would  spread  to 
Egypt  and  perhaps  to  India.  The  Senussiya  are  a  pack 
of  fools.  They  forget  that  four  nations  have  their  eyes  on 
Abd-er-Rhaman — the  French,  the  Italians,  the  Russians 
and  the  English." 

"And  who  is  Abd-er-Rhaman's  jailer,  Sidi ?" 

"Sir  Robert  MacDonald,  British  Consul-General  in 
Egypt.     Is  that  enough?" 


26    IN  THE  WAKE  OF  THE  GREEN  BANNER 

Sidi-Malik  appeared  to  be  convulsed  by  sudden  and 
silent  mirth.  His  glance  betrayed  an  unspeakable  con- 
tempt. 

"Ya  illak  il  Allah!"  he  chuckled.  "Then  thy  Sir 
Roobeert  Magdounal  is  the  big  fool,  Sidi.  .  .  .  Abd-er- 
Rhaman  is  in  Moghrib." 

Leyton  saw  the  General,  Gisele  and  d'Ornano  exchange 
a  glance  of  surprise.    The  Captain  exclaimed : 

"What's  that?" 

"I  say  that  Abd-er-Rhaman  is  in  Moghrib,  Sidi.  He 
was  in  Kairwan  last  week.  To-day  he  must  be  in  Mara- 
kesh.  .  .  .  No,  I  am  not  insane,  AJch  Arbil  It  has  been  a 
long  time  since  I  told  thee  that  I  expected  his  coming.  I 
will  let  thee  know  to-morrow  before  nightfall  where  he 
can  be  found.  Already  have  I  posted  people  to  watch 
every  gate.     I  will  see  him  to-night." 

"Where?" 

"At  the  Kutubia,  where  else?  If  he  is  to  be  seen  any- 
where, he  will  certainly  be  in  the  mosque.  The  Senussiya 
meet  at  nine  o'clock." 

D'Ornano  looked  at  his  chief,  then  at  Leyton. 

"What  if  I  went  with  him?"  he  asked  of  the  General. 
"I  might  take  your  nephew  along  as  a  witness.  The 
sight  of  the  crowd  he  will  meet  there  will  be  for  him  a 
novel  experience."  Then,  seeing  both  men  nod  in  ap- 
proval: "Here,  Sidi-Malik,  there  is  no  possibility  of 
escape.  Thou  wilt  either  show  me  Abd-er-Rhaman,  and, 
as  a  reward,  General  de  Diolie  will  himself  take  thee  to  the 
Resident  General,  or  thou  wilt  refuse,  and  two  hundred 
strokes  of  the  coorbash  will  punish  the  double-faced  traitor. 
Is  it  yes  or  no  ?  " 


A   BERBER  OF  THE   ATLAS  27 

"Am  I  a  Jew  that  I  cannot  be  trusted  ?  It  is  yes,  Sidi; 
if  thou  art  willing  to  take  the  risk." 

"We  will  take  the  risk.  What  kind  of  ceremony  shall 
we  have  to  go  through?" 

"At  the  door,  it  will  be  necessary  to  give  the  password. 
This  is  easy.  I  will  teach  you  the  signs  of  recognition  and 
that  will  be  all.  A  khouan  of  the  Senussiya  is  supposed  to 
know  many  secret  things;  but  there  will  be  many  strangers 
there.  Moreover,  in  case  you  should  be  challenged,  I 
will  step  in  and  put  the  questions  myself." 

"And  we  shall  be  able  to  speak  to  Abd-er-Rhaman ? " 

"We  might  make  bolder  than  speak  to  him,  Inshallah!" 
the  camel-driver  answered  enthusiastically.  "I  will  think 
of  a  plan.  We  shall  provide  ourselves  with  revolvers  and 
knives,  and  Anoun-Dialo,  the  negro  who  came  with  me, 
will  accompany  us.     He  is  very  strong." 

"And  what  is  the  password  ?" 

"The  word  to  night  is  'Allah's  sword  is  in  Okba's  hand. 
The  horse  that  goes  towards  sunset  was  bred  in  the  Syrian 
Desert.'  The  gate-keeper  will  tell  us  the  first  part  of  the 
sentence.     We  will  have  to  give  him  the  rest." 

"What  does  the  sentence  mean?" 

"It  means  what  it  says,  Sidi.  Abd-er-Rhaman  was 
stationed  on  the  Syrian  border.  He  came  into  Moghrib, 
which  is  the  country  of  sunset.  Likewise,  Okba  the 
Conqueror  came  from  Syria,  and  drove  the  unbelievers 
before  him.  Abd-er-Rhaman  is  Okba,  and  he  is  also  the 
horse.  Allah  gave  him  the  sword  of  victory.  There  is  no 
other  meaning." 

D'Ornano  looked  at  Gisele.     Both  of  them  laughed. 


CHAPTER  III 

"the  horse  that  goes  towards  sunset" 

The  man  who  leaves  his  native  city  at  seventeen  and 
comes  back  at  thirty-eight  is  apt  to  indulge  in  recollections. 
But  when  this  man,  an  outlaw,  compelled  by  the  vigilance 
of  the  police  to  assume  the  disguise  of  a  despised  moun- 
taineer of  the  Bled-es-Sibla,  enters  the  capital  on  foot, 
behind  a  donkey  loaded  with  charcoal  and  thuya  wood,  his 
thoughts  are  likely  to  be  interesting;  especially  if  he  enter- 
tains the  design  of  stepping  into  the  shoes  of  the  usurper 
who,  to  deprive  him  of  a  throne,  has  had  recourse  to  the 
classical  cup  of  bad  coffee  so  easily  concocted  by  the 
Borgias  of  Islam. 

Twenty-one  years  before,  six  months  after  his  father, 
Mustapha-el-Murthadi,  had  become  sultan,  Abd-er- 
Rhaman  had  left  Morocco  with  Khaid  McLeland,  the 
commander  of  the  Imperial  Guard,  and  had  taken  the 
Gibraltar  boat  for  Southampton.  His  goal  was  Sandhurst, 
where  it  had  been  decided  between  McLeland  and  his 
father  that  he  should  spend  three  years  training  himself 
for  modern  warfare.  At  the  English  military  academy 
he  evinced  little  that  was  remarkable,  save  perhaps  a 
proficiency  in  polo.  This  was,  no  doubt,  due  to  the  fact 
that  European  clothes  fit  a  Moslem  a  little  tight  at  first,  and 
that  it  takes  some  time  to  forget  that  one  is  the  son  of  one's 

28 


"the  horse  that  goes  towards  sunset"  29 

father.  But  he  managed  to  keep  on  a  level  with  his  class, 
and  he  even  graduated  without  having  to  put  in  motion 
other  influences  than  good  behavior  and  quiet  work. 

Up  to  this  time,  he  had  failed  to  astonish  the  world. 
But  he  gave  the  measure  of  his  capacities  eight  months 
after  he  left  school,  in  Somaliland,  where  English  and 
Italians  were  jointly  campaigning.  As  a  second  lieutenant 
in  the  Camel  Corps,  he  obtained  guides  where  none  ap- 
parently were  to  be  found,  and  succeeded  in  recovering 
one  hundred  camels  and  eight  hundred  head  of  cattle 
which  had  been  stampeded,  driven  through  seventy-odd 
miles  of  practically  unknown  mountain  land  and  there 
coralled  by  the  Somalis.  The  feat  decided  his  future. 
He  had  taken  part  in  the  expedition  for  the  sake  of  experi- 
ence, and  in  order  to  see  war  machinery  in  motion  before 
going  back  to  his  native  land;  but  his  father,  the  victim 
of  a  palace  clique,  died  of  poison  a  few  days  after  the  rumor 
of  the  young  man's  performance  had  found  its  way  into 
English  papers.  Even  then  Abd-er-Rhaman  would  have 
returned  home.  But  he  learned  in  Ismailia,  where  the 
P.  &  O.  liner  which  carried  him  stopped  to  coal,  that  the 
French  had  successfully  exerted  their  influence  in  favor 
of  his  uncle  Muley-Hassan,  whose  dangerous  prodigality 
they  planned  to  feed  as  the  usurer  feeds  the  spendthrift 
whom  he  will  ruin  when  the  victim  comes  into  his  inheri- 
tance. 

He  remained  in  the  service  of  the  Khedive.  His  modera- 
tion and  common  sense  were  at  that  period  of  the  kind  that 
do  not  even  invite  commentary.  He  forbore  from  speaking 
of  his  grievances,  even  in  the  strictest  confidence,  and  he 
apparently  confined  all  his  attention  to  military  affairs. 


30  IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE    GREEN   BANNER 

That  nobody  ever  heard  him  mention  his  troubles  was  as 
well  known  to  the  Khedive  as  to  Sir  Robert  MacDonald, 
the  new  British  Consul  General.  However,  what  some 
attributed  to  fatalism  and  calm  resignation  went  with 
others  by  another  name.  The  Khedive  laughed,  at  any 
rate,  when  Ismail  Bey  reported  to  him  a  conversation  in 
the  course  of  which  Sir  Robert  MacDonald  had  been 
heard  to  speak  of  Abd-er-Rhaman  as  "a  decent  young 
fellow,  so  thoroughly  Anglicized  that  he  took  pride  in  the 
uniform  bestowed  upon  him  by  King  Edward!"  This 
was  undoubtedly  a  bit  off  the  mark,  and  meant  only  for 
English  ears — Sir  Robert  MacDonald  was  new  to  Egypt, 
and  had  not  yet  been  afforded  an  opportunity  to  correct 
the  views  he  held  in  regard  to  many  things;  but  it  worked 
out  well  for  Abd-er-Raman,  who  was  transferred  to  India 
and  made  a  Captain  in  a  regiment  of  Gourkha  cavalry. 
His  luck  followed  him.  He  was  allowed  to  share  the 
scant  glory  and  very  real  dangers  of  one  of  the  so-called 
petty  wars  the  Empire  finds  itself  compelled  to  wage 
periodically  against  the  restless  Moslem  states  of  the  north- 
western border,  and  he  came  back  with  the  Victoria 
Cross. 

He  remained  in  India  eight  years,  enjoying  at  Simla 
something  tantamount  to  sanatorium  popularity.  Men 
praised  his  liberality,  bravery,  intelligence  and  horseman- 
ship; women  his  birth,  his  subtle  understanding  of  things 
Oriental  and  the  good  looks  he  inherited  from  a  Circassian 
mother.  But  all  felt  that  he  kept  at  a  distance,  growing, 
as  years  were  flowing  by,  more  reticent,  less  in  sympathy 
with  the  European  and  fonder  of  the  native.  Nobody, 
however,  thought  of  attributing  this  change  in  his  demeanor 


"the  horse  that  goes  towards  sunset"  31 

to  a  repressed  ambition  that  was  fast  becoming  restless; 
and  when,  after  the  Borneo  undertaking,  he  left  Ceylon 
for  a  change  of  climate  that  had  become  imperative,  he  was 
sent  back  to  Egypt  as  a  lieutenant-colonel. 

Again  five  years  went  by,  years  of  monotonous  quiet. 
Sandhurst  school-mates  had  ceased  to  speak  of  the  silent 
Abd-er-Rhaman,  now  sunk  to  the  level  of  the  beys,  emirs 
and  pashas  who  screened  the  Khedive  from  the  Foreign 
Colony  and  helped  him  to  forget  that  Egypt  had  fallen 
into  the  hands  of  the  Unbelievers.  In  South  Africa,  a 
cloud  broke  into  a  hail  of  hissing  bullets,  and  troops 
were  rushed.  Abd-er-Rhaman  went  back  to  Cairo  a 
sirdar. 

It  soon  became  evident,  however,  that  the  appointment 
was  a  mistake.  He  gave  away,  to  be  distributed  among 
the  students  of  El-Kasar,  Cairo's  famous  Faculty  of  The- 
ology, the  five  thousand  pounds  sterling  the  British  Parlia- 
ment had  voted  him  as  a  donative.  The  incident  did  not 
fail  to  bring  forth  interesting  comments  on  the  part  of  the 
British  Press;  but  the  alarm  was  not  really  sounded  until 
the  Paris  Matin  learned  from  a  member  of  the  Algerine 
native  police  that  Abd-er-Rhaman  had  long  since  joined 
the  Brotherhood  of  the  Senussiya,  and  warned  the  British 
Lion  to  be  watchful. 

The  revelation  upset  somewhat  Sir  Robert  MacDonald's 
confidence  in  the  loyalty  of  his  prote*ge\  It  was,  it  is  true, 
a  little  late.  The  Khedive  refused  steadfastly  to  let  Abd- 
er-Rhaman  go  to  India  where  a  few  English  gentlemen 
wisely  thought  they  had  better  send  him.  What  bond 
existed  between  the  new  Sirdar  and  the  Khedive  was  a 
momentous  question,  propounded,  not  only  in  Cairo's 


32  IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

European  colony,  but  in  London,  in  Paris  and  even  in 
Rome.  Constantinople  and  Berlin  probably  possessed 
better  information;  at  all  events  they  acted  as  if  they  did. 
As  a  consequence,  it  was  not  without  some  feeling  of  ennui 
that  it  was  noticed  in  diplomatic  circles  immediately  after 
rebellion  broke  out  afresh  among  Russia's  Moslem  sub- 
jects in  Transcaucasia,  that  the  whole  of  Islam  was 
stirred  to  its  very  depths  and  that  the  Senussiya  were  active 
from  Peishawur  to  Cape  Spartel. 

The  Kaiser  chose  this  moment  to  play  his  favorite 
game  of  bull  in  the  china  shop.  The  socialists  were  giving 
him  some  trouble  at  home,  and  he  deemed  it  necessary  to 
turn  the  attention  of  the  German  nation  towards  external 
affairs.  To  feel  the  pulse  of  the  world,  he  had  recourse  to 
the  plan  that  had  never  failed  him  in  such  hours.  "  Twist 
the  British  Lion's  tail  when  in  doubt.  He  will  tell  you  what 
to  do  and  won't  be  aware  of  your  twisting."  That  he  was 
ready  to  push  Turkey  forward  was  well  known.  But 
Britain,  this  time  both  awake  and  distrustful,  upset  the 
War  Lord's  plan  by  a  clever  counter-move.  Backed  by  her 
fleets,  the  Italians  occupied  Tripoli  and  the  French  rushed 
troops  to  Marakesh.  War  was  averted — for  a  while. 
Sir  Robert  MacDonald  received  strict  orders  to  keep  close 
watch  on  the  Sirdar,  but  this  to  little  purpose.  Abd-er- 
Rhaman  was  too  wary  to  commit  himself,  and  he  had  spies 
where  they  were  needed.  The  rest  was  not  so  much  in 
his  hands  as  in  those  of  his  partisans.  One  day  assurance 
reached  him  that  all  in  Morocco  was  ready  for  his  coming. 
He  then  planned  and  carried  out  the  flight  that  took  him, 
in  twelve  days,  when  all  were  in  total  ignorance  of  his 
departure,  from  the  shores  of  the  Atbara  River,  where  he 


"the  horse  that  goes  towards  sunset"  33 

was  supposed  to  have  gone  after  big  game,  to  the  city  he 
had  not  seen  in  twenty  years. 

The  district  he  was  now  treading  had  seen  little  change. 
Marakesh-el-Bali,  the  old  Marakesh,  had  just  as  narrow 
streets  and  was  as  ill-smelling  as  it  had  been  in  the  days 
of  Mustapha-el-Murthadi.  It  was  dusk  and  rain  threat- 
ened. Thunder  had  been  heard  all  the  afternoon,  and 
drops  of  tepid  water  were  beginning  to  streak  the  limewash 
of  the  house  fronts.  Before  him,  the  street,  crossed  by 
arches  and  interrupted  by  stairways,  tumbled  down 
towards  the  Tensift  River.  In  places,  the  paving  had  dis- 
appeared, and  the  sandstone  blocks,  carried  along  by  the 
rush  of  water  of  the  last  storm,  now  lay  in  the  ditch  which 
occupied  the  middle  of  the  street.  This  surface  sewer 
was  choked  with  refuse.  Marakesh's  inhabitants,  who 
allowed  the  waters  to  take  away  the  flag-stones  of  their 
stairways  and  sometimes  the  roofs  of  their  dwellings,  relied 
altogether  on  rain  to  rid  them  of  the  offal  storks  had  left 
as  too  cumbrous  or  too  nauseating. 

With  the  exception  of  minor  details,  all  houses  were 
alike.  White  was  the  predominating  color;  but  in  some 
cases  orange,  pink  and  even  an  ugly  indigo  tint  had  been 
added  to  the  limewash.  Unless  mention  should  be  made 
of  mucharabiehs  with  painted  awnings,  of  small  apertures 
in  the  form  of  a  trefoil,  of  heavy  oak  doors  with  lock,  bars 
and  hinges  of  wrought  iron,  of  bloody  hand-prints  left  on 
the  walls  by  the  women  and  children  of  the  household  to 
warn  away  the  evil  eye,  nothing  broke  the  uniformity 
of  the  frontages.  Not  far  away,  under  a  crumbling  arch, 
the  snoring  music  of  tom-tom,  fife  and  derbukkha  came 


34  IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN   BANNER 

through  the  low  doorway  of  a  Moorish  coffee-shop.  Lying 
on  the  bare  earth,  bundled  in  filthy  burnous,  Berbers  with 
shaven  scalps  were  asleep,  drunk  with  hasheesh.  They 
were  crowded  into  an  incredible  mix-up,  in  the  astonishing 
attitudes  Eastern  beggars,  who  enjoy  the  gift  of  moulding 
themselves  to  all  fixtures,  and  who  manage  to  attain  com- 
fort where  a  dog  would  find  it  hard  to  stand,  are  quite 
alone  in  assuming. 

Abd-er-Rhaman  peeped  inside.  A  gesture  he  made 
caught  the  eye  of  the  derbukkha  player,  who  got  up,  left 
the  shop  and  joined  him.  The  scars  left  by  instruments 
of  torture  on  his  body  branded  him  an  Aissaoui,  an  affili- 
ated member  of  the  most  mysterious  of  all  the  religious 
sects  whose  federation  composed  the  Senussi  body  politic. 
He  followed  the  Pretender  a  little  way  up  the  street. 

When  they  parted,  five  minutes  later,  the  Aissaoui  went 
down  towards  the  Mechouar.  Abd-er-Rhaman  retraced 
his  steps  and  entered  the  coffee-shop.  He  had  yet  three 
hours  to  spend  before  the  time  when  the  vaults  of  the 
Kutubia  would  fill  with  Senussiya,  and  this  low  shop  was 
safer  than  the  street.  The  three  soldi  he  handed  to  a 
barefoot  boy  bought  him  three  tiny  cups  of  coffee,  which  he 
sipped  leisurely.  He  then  wrapped  himself  in  his  burnous, 
turned  against  the  wall  and  went  to  sleep. 

The  khaouadji  awoke  him  at  the  appointed  time.  It 
was  raining  harder  as  he  left  the  shop.  Save  for  a  few 
khouans  who,  like  himself,  were  bound  for  the  Kutubia, 
the  unlighted  streets  were  deserted.  The  forbidding 
mosque  was  near  by.  At  the  door  he  gave  the  password, 
left  his  babooshes  in  charge  of  a  thick-lipped  mulatto,  and 
lost  himself  in  the  crowd  of  the  Faithful. 


"the  horse  that  goes  towards  sunset"  35 

He  made  his  way  towards  the  piscina.  Bronze  lanterns 
hung  from  the  pendentives  of  the  arches  and  torches  were 
burning  against  the  columns.  Their  red  and  smoky  glare 
lent  to  the  scene  a  touch  of  weirdness.  In  the  centre  of  the 
mosque  Aissaoua  were  performing.  There  were  at  least  two 
hundred  of  them,  dancing  solemnly,  hand  in  hand,  with 
guttural  exclamations.  Beggars  and  snake-charmers,  who 
had  spent  in  the  mosque  the  major  portion  of  their  day, 
had  taken  the  best  places.  It  was  a  silent  crowd  that 
watched  the  performance.  All  the  types  of  the  north 
African  races,  from  the  Tuaregg  of  Sahara  to  the  Moor  of 
the  coast  cities,  and  from  the  Haratin  to  the  Krumir,  were 
to  be  met  in  this  congregation.  Jews  and  Christians  were, 
of  course,  absent,  but  still  specimens  of  some  thirty  different 
types  of  humanity  elbowed  each  other  under  the  arcades. 
According  to  their  customs  and  occupations,  they  could  be 
classified  in  three  distinct  categories:  the  Berbers,  the 
Moors  and  the  Arabs.  The  negroes  and  half-breeds, 
according  to  the  same  classification,  were  reckoned  as 
belonging  to  either  category. 

For  three-quarters  of  an  hour,  as  long  as  the  performance 
of  the  Aissaoua  lasted,  Abd-er-Rhaman  kept  on  moving 
from  column  to  column.  He  spoke  to  no  one  and  no  one 
seemed  to  notice  him.  At  last  the  call  of  the  muezzin,  an- 
nouncing that  it  was  time  for  the  salat,  fell  from  the 
minaret.  The  circle  around  the  Aissaoua  broke  at  the 
first  words.  Divested  in  a  twinkle  and  showing  all  the 
degrees  of  uncleanliness,  five  hundred  people  plunged  into 
the  bathing-pool.  As  fast  as  they  came  out  others  took  their 
places.  The  nave  of  the  mosque  resounded  with  the  nasal 
lullaby  of  five  thousand  people  repeating  the  first  Surat. 


36  IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

"God  is  God  and  Mohamed  is  the  prophet  of  God. 
There  is  but  one  God — my  God.  Glory  be  rendered  to 
Allah  the  most  great,  and  Allah  the  victorious,  whose 
prophet  is  Mohamed." 

Abd-er-Rhaman's  glance  fell  on  a  gigantic  negro  at  his 
side.  He  knew  him  at  once  for  a  Yolof  from  Senegal.  A 
new  convert,  he  thought.  His  faith  seemed  built  on  firmer 
ground  than  his  knowledge  of  Arabic.  He  gave  the  Titan 
a  passing  glance  of  admiration;  but  he  failed  to  notice  that 
two  men,  one  at  each  side  of  him,  were  closely  watching  all 
his  movements.  He  resumed  his  garments  and  left  the 
vicinity  of  the  piscina,  directing  his  steps  towards  a  narrow 
staircase  that  led  into  the  mosque's  crypt.  D'Ornano, 
Sidi-Malik  and  their  burly  companion  followed  him. 

Twenty  minutes  passed  by,  and  the  door  closed  on  the 
last  Senussi.  All  told,  only  one-fifth  of  the  crowd  that  filled 
the  mosque  had  descended  into  the  crypt.  These  Khouans 
were  for  the  most  part  men  who  enjoyed  more  or  less 
influence  in  the  various  communities  which  had  sent  them. 
Some  were  only  hadjis  on  whom  a  pilgrimage  to  Mecca 
and  Medina  had  conferred  the  envied  privilege  of  conduct- 
ing worship  whenever  no  mullah  or  iman  was  at  hand. 
Others  were  Marabouts  and  Shorfa — revered  members  of 
hereditary  ecclesiastical  families.  Some — pure  Arabs — 
were  chiefs  of  great  tents  and  lorded  it  over  a  zmala  of 
nomads.  The  main  body  was  composed  of  students  and 
professors  of  the  Kutubia's  College  of  Theology. 
But  the  most  powerful  of  all  were  the  Mokkadems  and 
the  chiefs  of  zaouias.  The  first  could  be  likened  to 
the  autocratic  bishops  of  the  early  Christian  times; 
the  last,  bearing  a  striking  resemblance  to  the  power- 


"the  horse  that  goes  towards  sunset"  37 

ful  abbots  of  the  warlike  middle  ages,  exercised  an 
absolute  power  over  the  members — Khouans — of  some 
religious  brotherhood  and  were  the  real  barons  of  the  land. 
The  balance  were  a  small  fry  of  secret  agents,  Aissaoua,*  or 
men  who,  like  Sidi-Malik,  had  no  recognized  influence, 
but  whose  usefulness  consisted  in  their  ability  to  pry  into 
secrets  not  their  own.  D'Ornano,  thoroughly  coached  by 
his  companion,  had  assumed  the  character  of  such  a 
secret  agent.  Leyton  had  been  left  outside  to  await 
developments. 

If  the  Corsican  and  the  camel-driver  had  entertained  any 
doubts  as  to  the  identity  of  Abd-er-Rhaman,  these  were 
lifted  when  they  saw  him  join  the  mosque's  clergy  and  be 
received  by  them  with  marks  of  respectful  deference. 
However,  very  few  words  were  exchanged.  The  observa- 
tion d'Ornano  made,  that  only  a  very  small  circle  within 
the  mosque's  caves  seemed  aware  of  the  Pretender's 
presence,  strengthened  in  no  small  degree  his  determina- 
tion to  make  the  bold  attempt  suggested  by  Sidi-Malik. 
For  an  hour  he  listened  to  the  reports  of  the  different 
agents.  One  man,  sent  by  the  Andjera  tribe,  announced 
that  a  number  of  Riffian  communities  had  made  a  truce  that 
bound  them  to  keep  the  peace  and  respect  each  other's  crops 
until  the  end  of  the  coming  conflict.  An  envoy  from  the 
Zimour  confederacy  declared  that,  provided  an  extension 
of  territory  was  granted,  his  tribe  would  take  the  field  with 
one-third  more  men  than  requested.  Another — d'Ornano 
started  when  he  saw  that  the  speaker  who  had  arisen 

*  The  plural  of  Aissaoui  is  Aissaoua  Senussi,  Senussiya;  Sheriff, 
Shorfa;  Targui,  Tuaregg;  alem,  ulema.  In  Arabic  the  plurals  are 
very  irregular. 


38  IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

at  the  other  end  of  the  cave  was  no  other  than  Sidi-Malik — 
volunteered  the  information  that  he  possessed  the  names  of 
all  the  Jews  in  Marakesh  in  whose  homes  ready  cash  would 
be  found.  A  fourth  said  that  Bou-Amel,  the  Saharan, 
was  ready  to  enter  the  field  and  had  already  begun  the 
preaching  of  a  Holy  War.  When  he  withdrew,  an  Algerine 
Jcouloughi,  who  represented  himself  as  a  deserter,  as- 
serted that  the  men  of  two  native  regiments  garrisoned  at 
Tlemcen  were  preparing  to  mutiny,  and  would  do  so  as 
soon  as  Abd-el-Khader,  Captain  of  the  Fifth  Company, 
Second  Tirailleurs,  would  see  fit  to  order  the  massacre  of 
the  French  officers.  The  two  regiments  would  then  march 
across  the  border  to  Oujda,  and  would  hold  the  town  long 
enough  against  the  Foreign  Legion  of  Sidi-Bel-Abbes  to 
give  time  to  the  Riffian  and  Beni-M'Gill  tribes  to  come  to 
their  assistance.  D'Ornano  made  careful  mental  note  of 
this  report,  swearing  inwardly  that  it  would  not  be  his 
fault  if  the  said  Abd-el-Khader  was  not  checked  in  his 
career  of  mutiny  by  a  wall,  a  blindfold  and  twelve  bullets, 
all  within  forty-eight  hours.  Other  individual  bits  of 
information  came  to  light.  But,  curiously  enough,  none 
of  the  men  who  could  be  credited  with  holding  in  their 
hands  the  strings  of  the  organization  spoke.  The  Corsican 
began  to  suspect  that  the  meeting  was  faked.  He  had 
thought  that  questions  would  be  as  freely  debated  among 
the  Khouans  as  among  the  members  of  European  secret 
societies  whose  meetings  are  held  on  a  parliamentary  plan; 
but  it  was  now  evident  that  all  this  comedy  was  engineered 
solely  with  the  view  of  impressing  the  tribal  envoys  with 
the  fact  that  something  was  being  done.  The  plan  of 
campaign  lay  higher  up,  and  would,  he  knew,  be  kept 


"the  horse  that  goes  towards  sunset"  39 

carefully  concealed.  He  was  confirmed  in  this  belief  by 
the  words  of  the  Kutubia's  iman,  who  came  forward  to 
announce  that  every  man  might  now  go  back  to  his  tribe 
and  tell  those  who  believed  that  preparations  were  now 
complete.  Before  the  end  of  another  fortnight  an  event 
would  take  place  that  would  give  to  the  Faithful  a  sign 
that  the  time  had  now  come  to  mount  their  horses  and  load 
their  guns. 


CHAPTER  IV 

RUNNING  THE  GAUNTLET  OF  SENUSSIYA 

Suddenly  the  meeting  broke  up.  Sidi-Malik  made  his 
reappearance  as  the  Corsican,  preparing  to  leave  the  cave 
with  the  crowd,  was  wondering  what  step  it  would  be 
advisable  to  take  next.  The  outcome  of  the  whispered 
conference  which  ensued  was  that  d'Ornano  hurried 
up-stairs  after  Leyton.  The  painter  had  spent  all  this  time 
studying  the  crowd  and  the  surroundings.  He  had 
wandered  away  so  far  that  d'Ornano  had  some  difficulty  in 
finding  him.  What  the  young  Captain  told  sotto  voce 
made  the  American  straighten  up  as  he  realized  that  he 
would  now  be  called  upon  to  act  his  part.  They  went 
together  to  the  mosque's  door.  The  Corsican  remained 
outside,  in  the  dim  light  shed  by  the  bronze  lantern  that 
hung  from  the  keystone  of  the  arch.  Leyton  ran  until  he 
reached  a  side  street.  An  arch  overhung  it.  A  dilapidated 
lantern  was  burning  there,  but  a  stone  soon  did  away  with 
the  inconvenience.  Left  in  complete  darkness,  the  painter 
concealed  himself  behind  the  projection  of  a  pillar  sup- 
porting the  arch  and  waited. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour,  twenty  minutes  ebbed  slowly  away. 

At  the  end  of  that  time  he  became  suddenly  aware  that 

Sidi-Malik  and  his  dusky  companion  had  taken  shelter 

behind  the  opposite  pillar.     He  first  made  sure  that  the 

40 


RUNNING  THE  GAUNTLET  OF  SENUSSIYA  41 

street  was  deserted,  then  he  asked  with  lowered  voice  if 
the  man  was  coming. 

"Yes,  the  man  is  coming,  Sidi,"  came  the  guarded 
answer.  "But  he  has  suspicions.  Stay  here.  Anoun- 
Dialo  and  I  will  soon  be  back." 

The  bold  scheme  involved  nothing  less  than  the  kidnap- 
ping of  Abd-er-Rhaman.  After  d'Ornano  had  left  the 
cave,  Sidi-Malik  had  gone  to  the  Sirdar  and  taken  him 
aside  under  pretence  of  imparting  to  him  a  piece  of  confi- 
dential information.  His  game  had  been  simple.  To 
avoid  unnecessary  beating  around  the  bush,  and  perhaps 
dangerous  questions,  he  had  merely  slipped  into  the  Pretend- 
er's hand,  affecting  as  much  dull  stupidity  as  he  could 
command,  two  clippings  from  La  Vie  Illustree,  which 
d'Ornano  had  obtained  that  afternoon  at  the  officers'  mess. 
One  of  the  clippings  was  a  half-tone  reproduction  of  a 
photograph  showing  Abd-er-Rhaman  in  sirdar's  uniform. 
The  other  bore  the  likeness  of  the  German  ruler  with  this 

legend : 

Frederick  Wilhelm,  imperator  rex. 

Taken  by  surprise,  Abd-er-Rhaman  had  rapidly  glanced 
at  the  pictures.  He  had  then  torn  them  to  pieces  with  the 
formula  of  execration  used  by  Arabs  when  witnessing  a 
break  of  the  religious  rules.  He  had  quoted  to  Sidi-Malik 
the  surat  of  the  Koran  forbidding  the  reproduction  of 
human  and  animal  likenesses,  and  had  asked  him  severely 
if  he  had  seen  what  he  had  brought. 

"Verily  I  did,  Protector  of  the  Poor,"  the  camel-driver 
answered  with  affected  nervousness.  "A  stranger  stopped 
me  at  the  mosque's  entrance  and  showed  me  the  pictures. 
Be  he  cursed  for  his  sin,  and  I  forgiven  for  mine  by  the 


42    IN  THE  WAKE  OF  THE  GREEN  BANNER 

Presence!  These  are  the  words  the  stranger  said,  Sidi: 
'A  man  is  in  Stamboul  who  has  a  brother  here;  and  his 
brother  looks  like  him.  This  is  the  picture  of  the  Stamboul 
brother.  Go!  Sherib  Effendi  is  my  name.  Tell  the 
Marakesh  brother  that  I  am  sent  by  the  man  who  sells 
guns  in  Stamboul.  This  is  the  picture  of  the  man  who 
sells  guns  in  Stamboul/  Then  he  gave  me  this  likeness 
and  told  me  to  put  it  in  my  left  hand  so  that  it  would  not 
get  mixed  with  the  Stamboul  brother.  Forgive,  Sidi.  I 
am  the  Meskeen." 

Abd-er-Rhaman,  whose  suspicions  had  been  aroused 
by  the  sight  of  his  photograph,  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief. 
Somebody,  he  thought,  has  used  the  Meskeen — the  Hum- 
ble— who  appeared  to  be  at  the  same  time  an  idiot  of 
the  finest  water,  as  an  instrument  to  convey  some  message. 
It  was  quite  evident  that  the  Meskeen  had  been  told  of  the 
existence  of  an  imaginary  brother  solely  for  the  purpose 
of  concealing  from  him  the  identity  of  the  man  he  was  to 
seek.  But  why  this  portrait  of  the  German  Emperor? 
The  Presence  pondered  a  minute  and  decided,  at  the  end 
of  a  mile  of  rapid  Oriental  deductions,  that  Frederick 
Wilhelm,  who  was  in  close  relations  with  Yildiz  Kiosk, 
was  evidently  the  Stamboul  dealer  in  guns  who  had  ap- 
peared so  unexpectedly  in  the  Meskeen's  unintelligible 
speech.  It  followed  that  Sherib  Effendi's  errand  was  one 
related  to  guns,  alias  to  war.  Possibly  he  came  to  speak 
of  the  heavy  contraband  in  arms  and  ammunition  German 
firms,  subsidized  by  their  government,  were  carrying  on 
with  the  Moorish  coasts.  At  all  events  the  man  who 
knew  that  Abd-er-Rhaman  was  in  Moghrib  would  bear 
watching.    The  Presence  directed  the  Meskeen  to  lead 


RUNNING  THE  GAUNTLET  OF  SENUSSIYA  43 

him  to  Sherib  Effendi,  making  the  benighted  idiot  feel 
like  the  angler  who  has  landed  a  heavy  fish. 

At  the  door  they  found  d'Ornano.  The  Corsican  ad- 
dressed the  Pretender  in  Arabic. 

"Peace  be  with  thee,"  he  salaamed.  "Art  thou  the 
man  I  am  seeking  ?  " 

Abd-er-Rhaman  had  not  come  without  a  plan  of  his 
own.  Desirous  to  ascertain  whether  the  so-called  Sherib 
Effendi  was  not  a  spy,  he  had  made  silent  preparations  to 
take  him  a  prisoner  and  keep  him  in  the  Kutubia  until  his 
story  had  been  tested.  In  answer,  he  let  the  cowl  of  his 
burnous  fall  on  his  shoulders. 

"I  am  one  of  two  men,"  he  said.  "It  is  for  thee  to  tell 
which  one.  What  is  thy  message?  Speak  quickly.  I 
came  here  to  question,  not  to  answer." 

His  tone  caused  the  Corsican  to  become  acutely  con- 
scious of  the  difficulty  of  his  position.  Behind  the  Sirdar's 
back,  Sidi-Malik  made  a  grimace  in  which  he  read  all  the 
necessity  there  was  to  be  watchful.  He  noticed  at  the 
same  moment  that,  at  the  mosque's  entrance,  men,  whom 
he  rightly  took  for  Senussiya,  were  looking  in  their  direc- 
tion. He  had  been  trifling  with  a  hornet's  nest,  it  appeared. 
Yet  he  was  sure  that  Leyton,  Anoun-Dialo  and  Sidi-Malik 
were  at  work.  The  best  plan  for  him  was  to  wait  for  his  cue, 
meanwhile  remembering  that  language  was  not  given  to 
man  to  express  his  thoughts  but  to  conceal  them. 

"Thou  art  Abd-er-Rhaman,"  he  said  simply. 

He  observed  with  admiration  that  not  a  muscle  twitched 
in  the  Pretender's  face.     His  interlocutor  nodded. 

"Yes,  I  am  Abd-er-Rhaman,"  he  admitted.  "Who 
art  thou?" 


44  IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

"  I  go  by  the  name  of  Moritz  Shoerb,  and  I  am  a  German 
diplomat.  I  was  once  Attache  d'Ambassade  in  Constanti- 
nople. As  the  boatmen  of  the  Golden  Horn  called  me 
Sherib  Effendi,  I  came  to  Marakesh  under  that  name. 
But  I  come,  this  time,  directly  from  Paris.,, 

"To  what  purpose?" 

"The  Ambassador  received  telegraphed  orders  from 
Berlin  to  send  a  trusted  agent  to  Marakesh  with  instruc- 
tions to  await  thy  coming.  I  am  to  deliver  some  papers 
into  thy  hand.  Might  we  not  find  a  secluded  spot  in  the 
mosque  where  we  could  speak  of  this  ?" 

"No.  I  believe  it  would  be  risky,  Mr.  Shoerb.  The 
mosque  is  full  of  people.  You  can  deliver  the  papers 
here." 

Abd-er-Rhaman  had  spoken  French.  D'Ornano  could 
do  no  more  than  guess  his  purpose.  He  was  careful  to 
betray  the  slightest  indication  of  foreign  accent  and 
hesitancy  as  he  answered  in  the  same  tongue: 

"  I  am  to  inform  you  that  a  receipt  will  have  to  be  given 
in  exchange.  I  must  also  make  sure  that  this  is  not  a  case 
of  mistaken  identity.  Why  not  in  the  mosque,  your 
Highness?  A  word  with  the  iman  will  convince  me  be- 
yond the  possibility  of  a  doubt  that  you  are  indeed  Abd-er- 
Rhaman,  and  we  shall  find  there  paper  and  ink." 

The  request  was  mere  bluff.  He  had  ascertained,  among 
other  things,  that  Abd-er-Rhaman,  deluded  by  his  instant 
readiness  to  deliver  forged  papers,  believed  his  story  and 
wished  to  avoid  the  crowd.  He  attempted  to  resume  the 
offensive  by  the  affected  carelessness  with  which  he  spoke 
aloud  the  name  of  the  Pretender.  The  result  of  this 
inspiration  was  immediate.     People  were  coming  in  their 


RUNNING  THE  GAUNTLET  OF  SENUSSIYA  45 

direction.  They  were  near  enough  to  have  overheard,  he 
thought.  Abd-er-Rhaman  thought  so,  too,  which  was 
precisely  the  point  the  Corsican  had  tried  to  gain.  The 
Sirdar  caught  him  by  the  arm. 

"Follow  me,  Mr.  Shoerb,"  he  said.  "And  do  not  speak 
so  loudly  if  you  value  my  incognito  and  your  own.  We 
shall  have  to  wait  in  darkness  a  little  while.  I  would  sug- 
gest that  you  forget  my  name  for  the  present." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  your  Highness.  I  never  meant " 

"  Yes,  I  know.    Come !    Over  there  we  will  run  less  risk." 

He  entered  the  passage  in  which  Sidi-Malik  and  Leyton 
had  disappeared.  D'Ornano  had  not  bargained  for  so 
much.  Abd-er-Rhaman,  thinking  that  so  long  as  the 
mosque  remained  within  sight  he  had  his  interlocutor  at 
his  mercy,  evidently  felt  that  he  still  stood  on  solid  ground. 
He  asked  what  the  papers  contained. 

"Oh,  I  could  not  tell  you,  your  Highness,"  the  Cor- 
sican replied.  "They  were  sealed  in  private  by  the  Am- 
bassador himself.  Although  it  is  an  open  secret  at  the 
Embassy " 

Abd-er-Rhaman  interrupted  him  with  a  brief  gesture. 
Anoun-Dialo,  coming  back  from  the  passage,  had  brushed 
past  them.  The  Captain's  blood  ran  faster.  His  cue 
was  coming  and  all  was  well. 

At  this  moment,  Abd-er-Rhaman  happened  to  remem- 
ber that  a  passage  leading  into  the  caves  of  the  Kutubia 
opened  into  the  grain  market.  This  passage,  seldom 
used,  ought  to  be  accessible  on  the  night  of  a  Senussiya 
meeting,  he  thought.  He  resolved  to  take  it  to  reenter  the 
mosque.     D'Ornano  followed. 

The  sequel  came  quickly.     They  had  gone  but  a  few 


46  IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

steps,  when  two  men  sprang  from  the  shadow.  D'Ornano 
felt  his  companion's  knife  graze  his  ribs  just  in  time  to 
fall  back.  Sidi-Malik  already  had  the  Pretender  by  the 
throat.  Leyton  had  caught  him  by  the  wrist  and  was  now 
searching  his  belt  for  weapons.  The  Captain  recovered 
his  wits  in  time  to  help  the  American  snatch  a  flissa  from 
Abd-er-Rhaman's  grip.  He  heard  steps  behind,  and, 
turning,  beheld  Anoun-Dialo  coming  back  at  a  run.  At 
this  moment  Sidi-Malik  succeeded  in  flooring  his  opponent. 
But  as  he  fell  on  top  of  the  Pretender  his  elbow  struck  the 
ground  heavily.  He  let  go.  Abd-er-Rhaman,  now  free 
from  pressure,  uttered  at  once  the  call  for  help  in  use 
among  Senussiya. 

It  availed  him  little.  His  weapons  were  in  his  oppo- 
nent's hands,  and  Anoun-Dialo,  who  now  had  charge  of 
the  case,  was  displaying  a  vigor  there  was  no  possibility  of 
resisting.  He  picked  up  the  fallen  Sirdar  as  a  grown  man 
would  pick  up  a  child.  With  one  hand,  a  paw  large  enough 
to  cover  the  whole  of  the  Pretender's  face,  he  kept  him 
from  renewing  his  outcry;  with  the  other  he  seized  him 
by  the  ankles.  He  then  lifted  him  and  placed  him  on  his 
shoulder,  carrying  him  exactly  as  a  hunter  carries  a  dead 
antelope.  D'Ornano  proceeded  to  tie  the  prisoner's 
wrists  with  a  belt.  He  had  just  succeeded  in  accomplish- 
ing his  purpose  when  Sidi-Malik  yelled  at  the  pitch  of  his 
voice: 

" Aroua!  Aroua  mena,  fissa! — Come!  Come  with  me, 
quick!" 

It  seemed  to  Leyton,  who  turned  at  the  warning,  that 
Hell  was  vomiting  its  inmates.  He  did  not  stop  to  catch 
more  than  a  glimpse  of  the  scene,  but,  with  blood  chilled 


RUNNING  THE  GAUNTLET  OF  SENUSSIYA  47 

and  ears  ringing,  he  followed  Sidi-Malik  at  a  run.  Senussi 
deviltry  had  taken  the  trail.  In  the  space  lighted  by  the 
mosque's  lanterns  he  had  seen  a  flood  of  Moslems  surge 
forward.  The  shriek  uttered  by  Abd-er-Rhaman  had  been 
taken  up  by  twenty  throats,  and  now  the  Kutubia  poured 
the  whole  of  its  contents  into  the  adjoining  streets.  Five 
thousand  men  were  on  their  track. 

A  glance  right  and  left  assured  him  that  his  companions 
were  present  and  unharmed.  They  followed  Sidi-Malik  to 
the  end  of  the  cul-de-sac.  A  door  had  been  opened  there 
by  the  camel-driver  a  few  minutes  before.  All  of  them  and 
the  prisoner  tumbled  down  rough  steps  into  total  darkness. 
Sidi-Malik  locked  the  door.  D'Ornano  told  Leyton  that 
they  were  inside  the  grain  market. 

They  stood  there  a  second,  keeping  still  in  the  darkness. 
The  pursuers  reached  the  bottom  of  the  cul-de-sac  and 
began  pounding  upon  the  door  with  yells  of  rage.  Sidi- 
Malik  spoke  again. 

"Aroua!"  he  said.  "They  will  think  of  the  door  open- 
ing into  the  Kutubia's  caves  and  will  get  the  key  from  the 
iman.  Besides,  there  will  be  others  who  will  try  to  over- 
take us  by  running  around  the  ward.  They  will  be  here 
in  a  minute.     We  must  go.     Take  care  of  the  pillars!" 

Their  progress  was  slow  in  the  darkness.  This  grain 
market,  an  improved  form  of  the  matmorah,  was  built 
entirely  below  street  level,  in  the  fashion  of  a  cistern. 
The  vaults  were  so  low  that  Leyton  could  reach  the  ceiling 
with  his  hand.  The  air  was  not  only  foul,  damp  and  per- 
meated with  the  scent  of  fermented  grain,  but  the  dust 
particles  kept  in  suspension  by  the  atmosphere  of  all  such 
warehouses  were  irritating  in  the  extreme.    At  the  end  of 


48  IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

two  minutes  the  painter  succumbed  to  an  overwhelming 
desire  to  cough. 

"Hush!"  warned  Sidi-Malik.  "Men  sometimes  sleep 
here,  Sidi.  Always  beware  of  the  stranger  who  lies  still 
in  the  darkness.  Hurry,  or  we  will  not  be  able  to  escape. 
Remember  that  every  man,  woman  and  child  in  Marakesh- 
el-Bali  is  a  foe  to-night.     Fissa!    Fissa!17 

He  added  five  seconds  later: 

"The  city  gates  will  be  closed.  We  may  have  to  enter 
the  Kasbah  by  swimming.  If  we  do  so,  the  Senussiya  will 
attach  the  Kasbah  at  once.  Can  the  French  soldiers  be 
called  from  the  Kasbah,  Sidi  d'Ornano?" 

As  he  spoke,  Leyton  became  aware  of  a  source  of  light 
behind  his  back.  The  stocky  pillars  in  front  of  him,  dimly 
illumined,  cast  weird  dancing  shadows  on  the  floor.  Sidi- 
Malik  did  not  even  take  the  trouble  to  turn.  He  seized 
Leyton  by  the  hand. 

"Atom!" 

Behind  them,  the  door  that  led  into  the  Kutubia's  caves 
had  opened.  A  demoniacal  yell  warned  them  that  their 
presence  in  the  grain  market  had  been  discovered.  The 
race  began  again.  Twenty  torches  were  now  illuminating 
the  crypt.  This  helped  them  to  some  extent,  as  they  could 
see  their  way,  but  it  helped  their  pursuers  still  more. 
Sidi-Malik  stopped  d'Ornano,  who,  his  revolver  cocked  and 
raised,  made  ready  to  turn  and  shoot. 

"Not  now,  Sidi!"  he  said.  "Keep  thy  cartridges. 
Twenty  men  behind  us  are  less  danger  than  one  in  front. 
If  thy  friend's  strength  does  not  give  out,  we  can  keep 
running  for  a  long  time.  They  have  only  knives.  Keep 
the  bullets!" 


RUNNING  THE  GAUNTLET  OF  SENUSSIYA  49 

Leyton  assured  him  laughingly  that  he  too  could  run, 
boasting  that  he  had  won  in  intercollegiate  long-distance 
contests.  The  only  answer  that  the  information  elicited 
was: 

"Very  good,  Sidi  Leitoun.  Thou  wilt  need  running. 
Keep  thy  breath!" 

The  painter  reddened  under  the  rebuke.  He  kept 
silent,  however,  as  a  sharp  pain  in  his  soles  had  just  made 
him  realize  that  Sidi-Malik's  forebodings  of  disaster  were 
perhaps  justified.  He  could  run,  of  course,  as  an  American 
college  man,  who  has  enjoyed  the  benefit  of  scientific 
training  on  the  campus,  can  run.  But  he  was  now  running 
barefoot,  having  discarded  his  Moorish  zabats  at  the  first 
alarm;  low,  roomy,  heelless  shoes  being  worse  than  no 
shoes  at  all  in  a  situation  like  this.  And  his  soles  were 
tender,  while  those  of  their  pursuers  were  as  tough  as  horn; 
these  people  being  in  the  habit  of  wearing  their  shoes 
mostly  as  an  ornament,  hanging  to  a  string  passed  around 
their  necks.  He  knew,  besides,  that  no  white  man,  no 
matter  how  well  trained,  could  hope  to  outrun  a  Moghrabi 
on  more  than  two  miles  of  uneven  track.  This  under- 
ground grain  market  seemed  a  labyrinth  without  end.  He 
wondered  when  and  where  they  would  again  see  the  sky. 
The  pursuers  had  ceased  yelling,  and  the  only  noise  break- 
ing the  silence  of  the  cave  was  the  rhythmical  pounding 
of  two  hundred  naked  feet  striking  the  cement  floor  with 
a  sound  similar  to  that  produced  by  a  beetle  upon  wet  linen. 
He  was  running  between  d'Ornano  and  Anoun-Dialo,  his 
blood  beating  a  tattoo  against  his  temples,  short  of  breath 
and  wondering  how  the  Yolof  could  possibly  endure  this 
killing  pace  and  the  carrying  of  a  grown  man.     Then  he 


50  IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

became  aware  that  a  shadow,  issued  from  behind  a  pillar, 
had  crossed  their  path. 

Anoun-Dialo,  tackled  at  the  knees,  went  sprawling, 
knocking  the  painter  down.  Before  he  had  time  to  regain 
his  feet,  Leyton  heard  two  shots.  D'Ornano  had  been 
thinking  and  acting  with  the  stupefying  activity  which  was 
his  characteristic.  Wheeling  around,  he  had  effectually 
checked  the  career  of  the  pursuers  by  two  shots  that  did 
for  them  what  the  interference  of  the  man  behind  the 
pillar  had  done  for  the  fugitives.  Two  men  of  the  first 
rank  had  fallen  face  downward.  Stumbling  on  their 
prostrate  bodies,  three  torch-bearers  had  followed,  causing 
a  general  tumble.  The  fanatics  who  came  behind  had 
stopped,  demoralized  by  the  havoc.  Nothing  as  yet  had 
been  conducive  to  the  thought  that  Abd-er-Rhaman's 
kidnappers  were  armed  with  revolvers  and  were  dead 
shots. 

Leyton  gazed  stupidly  around  him.  A  man  lay  at  his 
feet,  disembowelled  by  Sidi-Malik's  flissa.  He  recognized 
him  for  the  man  who  had  caused  their  fall  and  for  an 
Aissaoui.  Anoun-Dialo,  apparently  unharmed,  was  rising 
from  the  ground.  But  Abd-er-Rhaman  was  a  free  man! 
Before  he  could  aim  and  fire,  he  saw  the  Pretender  disap- 
pear behind  a  pillar. 

All  this  had  taken  less  than  a  minute.  Sidi-Malik's 
curse,  and  d'Ornano's  sharp  command  to  resume  their 
flight,  brought  the  painter  back  to  the  painful  facing  of  a 
desperate  situation.  Their  hostage  was  now  gone.  A 
glance  behind  showed  him  that  the  Senussiya,  recovering 
from  their  indecision,  were  again  surging  forward.  The 
voice  of  the  Pretender,  coming  from  the  darkness,  assured 


KUNNING  THE  GAUNTLET  OF  SENUSSIYA  51 

him  that  nothing  but  death  awaited  the  Christian  dogs  who 
had  dared  break  into  a  Senussi  meeting.  Evidently  Abd- 
er-Rhaman  would  run  to  earth  those  who  not  only  had 
fooled  him,  but  were  in  a  position  to  make  his  presence 
in  Marakesh  known  to  the  French  authorities.  Urged  by 
him,  his  partisans  would  leave  nothing  undone.  The 
artist's  heart  sank  at  the  thought  that  their  only  hope  of 
escape  was  now  centred  in  Sidi-Malik. 

They  were  nearing  the  other  extremity  of  the  cave.  He 
saw  Sidi-Malik  climb  what  appeared  to  be  another  flight 
of  steps.  D'Ornano,  at  the  same  moment,  warned  him  to 
be  ready  to  shoot  whomsoever  would  attempt  to  impede 
their  exit.  A  second  later  they  were  outside,  in  the  rain, 
at  the  entrance  of  the  Mechouar. 

Noticing  that  the  trap-door  giving  access  to  the  passage 
swung  upwards  and  could  be  closed,  Ley  ton  proceeded  to 
fasten  it.  He  saw  at  a  glance  that  the  wooden  frame  would 
not  resist  very  long  the  combined  efforts  of  their  foes:  yet 
minutes  meant  much  in  the  present  instance.  He  closed 
the  panel  and  secured  it  by  introducing  the  handle  of  a 
solid  Spanish  knife  in  the  staple.  He  completed  the  opera- 
tion not  a  minute  too  soon;  the  Senussiya  were  reaching 
the  stairs.  As  he  resumed  an  erect  position,  he  met  Sidi- 
Malik's  approving  glance.  Enraged  yells  and  a  pounding 
of  frantic  fists,  came  from  below.  He  flushed  with  pride. 
After  all,  neither  d'Ornano  nor  Sidi-Malik  had  thought  of 
closing  the  panel. 

"Good,  Sidi  Leitoun,"  said  the  camel-driver.  "I 
thought  of  the  trap-door,  but  the  padlock  is  lost,  and  I 
forgot  that  a  knife  would  do  as  well.  This  will  hold  them 
until  the  coming  of  the  beni-kelbiy  who  are  coming  around 


52  IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

the  square.  Aroua,  Sidi!  When  they  reach  this  place  we, 
shall  be  across  the  Mechouar." 

They  resumed  their  tramping.  Leyton's  soles  did  not 
hurt  as  badly  now  that  their  flight  took  them  across  seas 
of  mud;  but  he  was  in  constant  fear  of  slipping.  Sidi- 
Malik  led  them  diagonally  across  the  large  piazza.  They 
left  it  to  enter  dark,  narrow  and  steep  thoroughfares, 
criminal  little  streets  deluged  with  storm  water,  which 
wound  their  way  toward  the  ramparts. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  passed  by.  They  reached  the 
dilapidated  Moorish  fortifications  and  followed  them  for 
some  distance.  Sidi-Malik's  plan  now  was  to  leave 
Marakesh-el-Bali,  cross  the  huerta,  and  reenter  the 
European  part  of  the  town.  Once  there,  they  would  be  in 
comparative  safety.  But  to  accomplish  this  successfully, 
they  would  have  to  run  for  another  two  miles.  The  camel- 
driver  felt  certain  that  d'Ornano  and  his  American  friend, 
unaccustomed  to  running  barefoot,  would  be  overtaken 
before  they  had  covered  half  the  distance.  He  thought  of 
another  plan. 

The  gates  of  the  native  city  were  now  closed,  but  he 
knew  the  location  of  a  breach  in  the  walls.  This  they 
would  use  to  escape  into  the  huerta.  They  reached  the 
hole  as  the  Senussiya  were  again  coming  within  hearing 
distance.     The  camel-driver  passed  first. 

"Thou  and  thy  friend  had  better  wait  here,  Sidi,"  he 
told  d'Ornano,  when  the  Corsican  joined  him  on  the  other 
side  of  the  wall.  "This  is  a  good  place,  as  the  Senussiya 
will  have  to  enter  the  hole  one  at  a  time.  Thou  wilt  shoot 
them  down.  Anoun-Dialo  and  I  will  steal  horses  or 
mehara.     It  will  be  mehara  if  I  can.     Anoun-Dialo  is  too 


RUNNING  THE  GAUNTLET  OF  SENUSSIYA  53 

heavy  for  a  horse,  and  the  mehara  have  better  speed — 
kif-kif  the  smoke  on  the  plains  swept  by  fire." 

They  were  gone.  Leyton  felt  thoroughly  uncomfort- 
able. The  thought  that  the  camel-driver  had  had  recourse 
to  this  scheme  to  secure  his  own  and  his  servant's  escape, 
had  struck  him,  and  the  suspicion  clung  to  him  in  spite  of 
his  attempts  to  dismiss  it.  On  the  other  side  of  the  breach 
d'Ornano's  voice  broke  the  silence. 

"How  many  cartridges  have  you,  Leyton?" 

"Six  in  the  barrel  and  seven  in  my  pocket,  I  be- 
lieve." 

"That  will  do.  These  devils  will  be  here  in  a  minute. 
I  will  shoot  first,  and  keep  on  shooting  until  I  have  emptied 
my  revolver.  Then  you  will  begin.  You  had  better  come 
behind  me  or  we  might  hit  each  other.  Shoot  them  in  the 
head.  I  will  reload  while  you  are  busy.  Above  all,  take 
your  time.  The  place  is  good  and  we  have  twenty-three 
cartridges  between  us.  If  all  goes  well,  we  will  clean  out 
twenty  of  them  and  still  have  our  knives.  I  hope  that 
Abd-er-Rhaman  will  come  first." 

"How  long  do  you  think  we  can  hold  out?"  inquired  the 
American. 

"Oh,  anywhere  from  twenty  minutes  to  an  hour.  It 
depends  on  how  fast  they  can  think.  They  can't  pass  here; 
but  they  will,  sooner  or  later,  think  of  scaling  the  walls. 
They  will  then  drop  on  us  from  above  as  thick,  ripe  and 
juicy  as  figs  in  September.  Sidi-Malik  will  be  back  before 
that,  I  hope,  and  meanwhile  we  shall  have  some  fun." 

"  Where  did  Sidi-Malik  go  ?  " 

"To  the  place  where  caravans  stop  when  they  reach 
the  town  at  night  and  find  all  the  gates  closed.     He  and 

V     OF  THE 


54  IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

Anoun-Dialo  will  go  naked,  so  as  not  to  make  the  dogs 
bark.  You  can  trust  them  to  steal  something  and  come 
back  in  a  hurry.  Ah,  here  comes  the  gang  now.  Be 
quiet,  keep  awake  and  shoot  straight,  if  you  value  your 
hide.     Are  you  ready?'' 

"Yes.    Are  you?" 

The  bang  of  d'Ornano's  revolver  brought  him  the 
answer.  A  brown  head  had  shown  itself  in  the  aperture. 
Too  sick  to  shriek,  the  painter  was  now  wiping  off  with 
his  burnous  human  gray  matter  that  covered  his  face. 
The  body  had  fallen  at  his  feet. 

"One!"  exclaimed  d'Ornano.  "Bon  sang  de  Dieu,  it's 
not  pretty!  .  .  .  Come  on!  Brace  up!  What's  the  mat- 
ter with  you,  Leyton  ?  Did  you  mistake  manslaughter  for 
a  girl's  pastime  ?  You  will  have  to  put  up  with  that  sort 
of  thing  or  surrender  your  life,  that's  all.  Look  above! 
If  you  see  any  of  these  rascals  on  top  of  the  wall,  bring  him 
down.     Quick!" 

The  American  moved  unsteadily.  To  the  silence  that 
had  followed  the  first  report  of  d'Ornano's  weapon  now 
succeeded  a  tempest  of  furious  exclamations.  Dragged  by 
the  legs,  the  body  of  the  first  victim  disappeared  behind  the 
wall.  Then  the  Corsican's  revolver  spoke  three  times  in 
quick  succession.  Leyton  realized  with  a  pang  that  his 
turn  had  come.     D'Ornano  stepped  aside  to  reload. 

"Keep  cool,  now,"  he  said,  "and  show  the  brutes  what 
you  can  do." 

The  painter  did  not  need  the  admonition.  To  the  first 
nervousness  caused  by  the  affray  had  succeeded  the  blood- 
boiling  hatred,  the  itching  desire  to  rip  and  tear,  that  preys 
upon  any  animal  who  sees  himself  at  bay.    There  were 


KUNNING  THE  GAUNTLET  OF  SENUSSIYA  55 

three  minutes  of  comparative  stillness.  The  Senussiya 
were  clearing  the  breach.     Then  he  shot. 

He  shot  four  times  in  four  minutes.  The  occupation 
was  too  absorbing  to  permit  him  to  notice  that  on  his  right, 
perhaps  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away,  Sidi-Malik  and  Anoun- 
Dialo  had  set  a  tent  on  fire  to  produce  disorder,  and  were 
coming  back  with  two  camels.  He  shot  a  fifth  time.  The 
report  of  another  weapon  followed  his  and  a  body  fell  very 
near  him.  D'Ornano  had  just  shot  down  a  man  who  had 
succeeded  in  reaching  the  top  of  the  rampart.  At  this 
moment  something  brushed  past  him.  Caught  under  the 
arm  and  lifted  bodily,  he  found  himself  sitting  behind 
Anoun-Dialo,  on  the  back  of  a  mehari.  D'Ornano  had 
taken  place  behind  Sidi-Malik. 

Away  they  went.  The  Senussi  were  now  rushing  into 
the  open.  They  were  not  to  be  feared  any  longer;  but 
another  foe  had  appeared.  Horsemen  were  in  pursuit  of 
the  camel  thieves,  and  these  had  rifles.  Leyton  had  had 
barely  time  to  recognize  Anoun-Dialo  and  assure  himself 
that  d'Ornano  was  safe,  when  he  gave  a  shriek  of  pain  and 
let  his  revolver  fall.  One  of  the  horsemen  had  hit  him  in 
the  shoulder. 

When  he  recovered  consciousness,  Anoun  Dialo,  Sidi- 
Malik  and  the  Corsican  were  gone.  In  their  stead, 
Gisele  was  at  his  side,  and  he  was  resting  on  the  bed  of 
red  damask  and  green  linen. 


CHAPTER  V 

IN  THE  IMPERIAL   GARDENS 

It  was  two  weeks  later.  They  were  three:  the  man, 
the  woman  and  the  moon.  The  imperial  gardens  were 
white  with  light,  and  the  man  was  in  the  water  to  the  neck, 
ready  to  duck  and  dive  at  the  first  alarm.  It  was  close 
to  three  o'clock. 

The  woman,  a  mere  child  of  sixteen,  was  unusually 
handsome,  with  beautiful  locks  of  jet  black  hair  and 
splendid  eyes.  The  man  was  ugly.  But  Djellma  loved 
him  for  the  light  that  shone  in  his  eyes;  because  there  was 
boldness  and  quizzical  cynicism  there.  He  was  strong,  as 
tricky  as  Polutlas  Ullyses,  and  he  thought  as  little  of  killing 
the  man  who  had  taken  his  money  at  a  game  of  huckle- 
bones  as  of  stealing  the  figs  of  his  breakfast.  A  true 
Berber  was  he;  and  she  the  daughter  of  a  Mingrelian  jail- 
keeper  of  Ras-Beirut,  a  Caucasian  in  whose  soul  the 
treacherousness  of  Colchis'  poisonous  swamps  allied  itself 
to  the  fierceness  of  the  prototype  of  her  race,  the  Medea  of 
the  Golden  Fleece.  She  and  Sidi-Malik  met  in  that  place 
whenever  the  necessities  of  underhanded  politics  compelled 
the  camel-driver  to  take  his  chance  at  being  caught  in  the 
Sultan's  Serai.  He  usually  made  the  journey  in  the 
company  of  a  corpse  or  two.     But  corpses  have  on  live 

men  the  superiority  of  not  minding  a  quarter  of  a  mile's 

56 


IN  THE   IMPERIAL  GARDENS  57 

swim  underground.  Each  time  he  took  the  perilous 
plunge,  Sidi-Malik  had  to  call  to  mind  all  he  had  learned 
of  swimming  during  the  two  seasons  he  had  acted  as 
howarti — hippopotami-spearer — in  the  swift  current  of  the 
Barh-el-Djemel  river,  in  the  highlands  of  Ouadai. 

"Who  should  know  the  news  better  than  I,"  he  said 
presently,  with  some  show  of  irritation.  "Praise  be  given 
to  God,  I  am  no  fool!  I  was  in  the  Kutubia's  caves  when 
the  tiding-bearers  came.  I  could  tell  it  was  an  important 
message  by  the  effect  the  news  had  on  those  who  were 
admitted  to  share  it.  Now,  why  should  the  iman  order 
aloud  every  Senussi  to  bring  his  friends  in  arms  in  the 
streets  at  twelve  o'clock  to-morrow,  if  the  Franzawis  had 
not  suffered  defeat  a  second  time  ?  I  knew  there  was  to  be 
a  fight;  Sidi  d'Ornano  told  me  so." 

"Have  these  Nazarenes  become  no  good,  that  they  can 
no  longer  win?"  the  woman  asked  contemptuously.  "I 
hear  daily  of  them  being  beaten.  What  will  armed  men 
do  in  the  streets  to-morrow?" 

"Maybe  there  will  be  a  revolt.  Maybe  the  iman  will 
go  himself  on  top  of  the  Kutubia's  minaret  and  preach  a 
Holy  War." 

"Inshallah!"  she  gasped.  "But  then  he  will  preach 
for  Abd-er-Rhaman !  He  will  hail  him  by  the  name  of 
Emir-el-Mumenin — Commander  of  the  Faithful.  They 
will  come  here  and  attack  the  Kasbah.  They  will  kill 
Muley-Hassan  and  make  us  all  prisoners!" 

"  They  will,"  retorted  Sidi-Malik.  "  But  it  will  not  avail 
thee  to  sound  an  alarm.  The  Franzawis  have  not  enough 
troops  to  hold  their  own,  and  Muley-Hassan  hates  the 
bearers  of  bad  tidings.     Mektoub  rebib!    At  the  hour  of 


58  IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

Durh  to-morrow  the  iman  will  himself  call  the  Faithful  to 
the  salat.  He  will  tell  them  to  nail  Muley-Hassan's  head 
to  the  Kasbah's  gate,  and  to  roast  the  Jews  to  make  them 
tell  where  their  money  is  concealed.  Then  will  the  true 
Moslems  burn  and  plunder  Marakesh-el-Djedid.  They 
will  kill  the  Rumis  and  keep  their  wives  to  themselves. 
For  me,  I  am  going  away.  I  have  long  known  that  the 
Franzawis  were  thick-headed  fools.  Sidi  d'Ornano  is  no 
fool,  it  is  true;  but  he  is  alone.  I  told  Sidi  Leitoun  to  go; 
but  a  woman  has  so  weakened  his  mind  that  he  has 
become  kif-kij  burrico  and  will  not  hear.  Therefore  I 
wash  my  hands.  Muley-Hassan  won't  be  here  to  give 
me  money  to-morrow,  neither  will  the  Sidi  Governor. 
Kismet  Ma'shallah!  I  am  going." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  philosophically.  Melctoub 
rebib! — It  was  written.  He  had  squeezed  the  lemon  while 
there  was  juice;  but  he  had  all  the  time  been  aware  that 
Destiny  stood  by,  ready  to  play  him  some  of  her  tricks. 
The  discovery  that  his  sources  of  supply  were  to  be  cut  the 
next  day  was  not  enough  to  penetrate  the  armor  of  his 
fatalism.     She  eyed  him  narrowly. 

"Where  art  thou  going  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Manarf.  Maybe  I  shall  go  to  Sokoto;  maybe  to 
Tripoli.  If  there  is  to  be  war,  caravans  will  come  to 
Marakesh  no  longer  and  Tripoli  will  take  all  the  trade. 
I  shall  go  to  Tripoli  perhaps." 

With  this  he  again  took  to  the  water  without  even  saying 
good-by.     She  called  him  back. 

"I  should  like  to  go  with  thee  to  Tripoli,"  she  said. 

No  smile  betrayed  his  triumph;  and  the  puzzling,  dan- 
cing light  in  his  eyes  she  could  not  read.  He  knew  that  her 


IN  THE   IMPERIAL  GARDENS  59 

heart's  desire  was  to  go  back  to  Tripoli  where  she  had 
lived  before  her  unspeakable  mother  had  sold  her  to  a 
Moghrabi  slave-dealer.  He  had  no  present  intention  of 
leaving  Marakesh,  at  least  without  his  share  of  the  plunder; 
but  women's  whims  must  be  humored.  He  had  come 
purposely  to  decide  her  to  profit  by  the  upheaval  that  was 
to  take  place  on  the  morrow  to  escape  from  the  imperial 
harem.  But  he  was  too  wary  to  speak  his  mind.  He 
knew  that  she  would  then  feel  entitled  to  make  her  own 
terms,  and  he  had  bought  and  sold  too  many  horses  to 
foreclose  a  bargain  that  did  not  leave  him  the  upper  hand, 
with  the  moral  satisfaction  of  having  fleeced  the  other  party 
to  the  deal. 

"I  cannot  take  thee,"  he  resumed.  "Thou  canst  not 
leave  the  Kasbah  without  an  arifa  or  a  eunuch,  and  I 
would  be  running  too  many  risks." 

"Has  thy  knife  become  dull  while  living  with  so  many 
Franzawis,  or  has  the  fear  of  the  Senussiya  shorn  thee  of 
manhood,  Sidi-Malik!"  she  snapped  at  him.  "Moreover 
there  is  no  need  to  kill,  perhaps.  An  arifa,  being  a  woman, 
is  no  great  burden  in  a  crowd ;  and  I  am  still  able  to  outwit 
a  eunuch." 

"  Nevertheless  it  is  a  great  risk  to  take  for  a  woman  who 
will  not  work.  How  can  I  take  thee  ?  I  will  have  no  title 
to  show  that  thou  art  a  slave.  Neither  will  I  be  able  to 
prove  that  thou  art  a  wife.  Thou  wilt  feel  free  to  do  as 
thou  pleasest,  and  ..." 

"I  will  not  cost  thee  money,  at  any  rate.  A  wife  thou 
wilt  have  to  buy,  and  if  she  is  as  beautiful  as  I  am, 
thou  wilt  have  to  give  a  thousand  douros  to  her  father." 

"True.     But  if  I  beat  her,  and  she  goes  to  the  Cadi  and 


60  IN  THE   WAKE    OF  THE   GREEN   BANNER 

gets  a  divorce,  all  the  money  will  be  returned  to  me,  and 
I  can  keep  all  her  personal  property  besides.  This  is  the 
law.  I  should  like  to  take  thee,  nevertheless.  Thou  art 
like  a  rose  in  bloom,  and  I  like  the  sweet  perfume  of  thy 
breathing  on  my  face;  but  these  are  indeed  evil  times.  I 
shall  have  to  travel  fast,  and  women  cannot  stand  fast 
camel-riding.  If  I  tarry  on  the  way,  I  will  be  robbed. 
Yet  I  could  take  thee,  perhaps;  .  .  .  but  what  couldst 
thou  do  to  help  me?" 

"I  have  already  told  thee  that  I  would  get  rid  of  the 
eunuch." 

"Is  that  all,  Allah  Kerim!  A  child  could  get  rid  of  a 
eunuch  easily  enough.  Shall  I  take  unto  myself  a  wife 
that  will  not  bring  me  any  goods?  Many  will  be  those 
who  will  share  the  plunder  of  the  Kasbah  to-morrow.  .  .  . 
How  can  I  provide  for  a  woman  when  I  am  as  poor  as  a 
dokkar?  Tell  grand  eunuch  Mustapha  that  there  will  be 
an  upheaval  at  twelve  o'clock." 

" How  can  I  ?"  she  asked  in  surprise.  " He  will  ask  me 
how  I  learned  of  it.  He  knows  that  I  have  not  left  the 
harem  since  day  before  yesterday." 

"Tell  him  a  lie.  Thou  art  able  to  use  thy  tongue, 
Bismillah!  Make  him  believe  thou  hadst  a  dream.  He 
might  not  believe  at  once  that  Abd-er-Rhaman  has  routed 
the  Franzawis  a  second  time,  but  I  will  start  the  report 
going  in  the  Soukhs,  and  bazaar  talk  goes  fast.  Tell  him 
to  ask  if  it  is  not  true  that  men  are  to  be  in  arms  in  the 
streets  before  twelve  o'clock.  He  will  know  that  thy 
dream  is  a  true  one  then,  and  he  will  be  afraid." 

"And  what  shall  I  do?" 

"He  will  think  of  nothing  but  of  his  personal  safety. 


IN   THE    IMPERIAL   GARDENS  61 

He  and  thee  will  leave  the  Kasbah  together  before  the  salat 
of  twelve  o'clock.  He  will  be  in  disguise,  but  he  will  have 
all  his  gold  in  the  folds  of  his  belt.  Tell  him  to  ask  me 
questions.  Thou  wilt  find  me  selling  amber  beads  under 
the  fourth  arcade,  in  the  darkest  corner  of  the  Soukhs. 
Remember;  under  the  fourth  arcade,  just  before  twelve 
o'clock.  I  will  see  that  there  is  nobody  there.  All  the 
merchanis  will  pack  up  and  leave  the  place  as  soon  as  I 
tell  them  that  there  is  to  be  a  Gazi.  Mustapha  is  a  fat  fool. 
He  will  believe  thee  if  thou  sayest  that  the  best  hiding-place 
is  the  fourth  arcade  of  the  Soukhs." 

He  relaxed  the  grip  he  had  on  the  root  of  a  tree,  kicked 
the  bank  and  was  gone.  The  swift  current  took  him  like 
a  feather,  tossing  him  here  and  there.  Then  a  high  wall, 
White  with  moonlight,  blocked  his  way.  At  this  point  the 
stream  resumed  its  underground  course.  He  dived,  for  a 
minute  and  a  half  fighting  blindly  in  the  black  waters. 
Then  he  went  up  again  and  made  for  the  bank.  The 
stream  that  watered  the  imperial  gardens  had  emptied 
itself  in  the  grand  canal.  He  was  in  the  huerta,  not  far 
from  the  cemetery  of  Abou-Kasaf. 

He  went  to  sleep  on  the  curb  of  a  noria  well,  and  did  not 
awake  before  eight  o'clock,  when  Anoun-Dialo  came  to 
bring  him  garments,  as  was  his  wont  each  time  his  master 
took  the  plunge  near  the  ghetto  to  reappear  beyond  the 
ramparts.  He  had  two  hours  to  spend  in  idleness  before 
it  became  necessary  for  him  to  reenter  the  town  and  begin 
his  day's  work.  He  first  ate  some  of  the  black  barley 
bread,  not  wholly  free  from  hull,  half  cooked  and  badly 
leavened,  that  natives  always  carry  in  the  cowl  of  their 
burnous.     The  burnous  is  seldom  free  from  vermin,   but 


62  IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

this  matters  little.  The  life-long  acquaintance  of  the 
Moghrabi  with  the  by-products  of  uncleanliness  has  made 
him  so  indulgent  a  room-mate  that  he  has  never  recourse, 
when  wishing  to  get  rid  of  the  pests,  to  harsher  treatment 
than  a  half-hearted  shake  of  his  clothing. 

After  his  meal  he  smoked  a  cigarette;  then  he  challenged 
Anoun-Dialo  to  a  bout  of  rabah.  Rabah  is  a  sort  of  North 
African  savate.  The  good  rabah  fighter  wheels  around 
with  the  velocity  of  a  dervish  and  usually  lands  his  blow 
on  the  ribs  or  sternum  of  his  adversary.  One  well-placed 
kick  is  generally  sufficient  to  end  a  bout,  but  Sidi-Malik 
had  found  in  Anoun-Dialo  an  opponent  who,  for  all  his 
clumsiness,  evinced  such  extraordinary  powers  of  taking 
punishment  that  he  had  never  been  able  fairly  to  knock 
him  down.  To  the  camel-driver,  accustomed  to  win  in 
nearly  every  contest  of  skill  or  strength,  the  giant  was  a 
puzzle.  In  wrestling  bouts  it  took  nothing  short  of  a 
strangle  hold  or  a  foul  to  count  him  out;  and  he  often  won 
by  dint  of  sheer  strength.  The  Berber  had  had  narrow 
escapes.  Not  that  the  Yolof  was  of  rabid  disposition  when 
challenged,  but  because  he  often  was  unable  to  control 
the  force  of  his  blows.  Anoun-Dialo  was  also  past-master 
in  two  other  games.  As  a  swordsman,  he  boasted  of  his 
ability  to  sever  a  horse's  neck  at  a  single  stroke  of  his  two- 
handed  Targui  sabre,  and  he  excelled  at  stopping  with  his 
skull  the  downward  course  of  a  stone,  a  sport  much 
practised  in  Moghrib  and  responsible  both  for  the  ex- 
traordinary hardness  of  the  North  African  skull  and  the 
great  number  of  insane,  idiots  or  mild  lunatics  who  meet  in 
Morocco  the  eye  of  the  traveller. 

The  story  of  the  negro  was  a  curious  one.     He  was  the 


IN  THE   IMPERIAL  GARDENS  63 

eleventh  son  of  a  tribal  chief  of  the  upper  Senegal.  Having 
one  day  crossed  the  river  to  attempt  some  camel  lifting,  he 
had  been  made  a  prisoner  by  the  Trarza  Moors  who  con- 
gregate on  the  north  bank  of  the  river  to  gather,  in  the  dry 
season,  the  crop  of  arabic  gum  of  the  thorny  acacia  trees. 
He  had  been  kept  as  a  hostage.  On  account  of  his  birth, 
his  prodigious  strength  and  the  facility  with  which  he  had 
learned  to  repeat  the  first  surats  of  the  Koran,  he  had  soon 
won  the  friendship  of  his  captors.  One  day  the  Trarza 
were  attacked  by  Tuaregg  who  had  covered  on  mehari's 
back  one  hundred  and  fifty  leagues  for  the  sole  purpose  of 
plundering  a  caravan  which  the  Trarza  were  escorting. 
A  pitched  battle  had  taken  place.  Anoun-Dialo,  fighting 
in  the  first  rank,  had  been  made  a  prisoner.  He  had 
crossed  the  whole  of  the  Sahara  behind  the  victors.  He 
had  been  sold,  in  the  oasis  of  Tuat,  to  a  camel-driver  who 
had  taken  him  to  Dar-el-Beida,  then  to  Mogador.  There 
he  had  eluded  the  vigilance  of  his  master  and  had  fled  to 
Marakesh.  Shortly  before  the  entrance  of  the  French  into 
the  town,  he  had  fallen  in  with  Sidi-Malik  and  had  adopted 
him  as  a  master.  Naively  he  confessed  his  heart's  desire 
and  fixed  the  price  of  his  faithfulness;  the  contemplation 
of  his  father's  majesty  having  long  since  fired  him  with 
political  aspirations. 

"Now  is  thy  chance  to  earn  or  steal  many  douros,"  he 
said.  "  Then  we  two  go  back  to  Soudan.  With  thy  money 
and  thy  cunning,  thou  wilt  become  a  great  Sultan  in 
Ouadai,  Inshallah!  Thou  wilt  make  Anoun-Dialo  a 
tribal  chief.  I  will  buy  from  thee  powder,  guns  and  cotton 
goods,  and  I  will  give  thee  bullocks,  ivory,  gum,  ostrich 
feathers,  kola  beans,  kante*  butter  and  gold  dust." 


64  IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN   BANNER 

After  their  bout  of  rabah  the  pair  settled  down  for  an 
hour  and  a  half  of  kief.  Kief,  which  means  also  hemp- 
smoking,  means  primarily  loafing;  that  perfect  farniente 
that  North  Africans  have  borrowed  from  the  reptiles. 
The  Italian  lazzaroni  may  rival  the  immobility  of  a  dog 
in  the  sunshine,  but  flies  disturb  or  amuse  him;  the 
Moghrabi  has  studied  the  ways  of  the  lizard.  Sidi-Malik 
was  not  asleep,  however,  for  promptly  at  ten  o'clock  he 
was  up  and  ready.  He  ordered  Anoun-Dialo  to  go  and 
feed  the  camels — two  of  those  they  had  stolen  together,  two 
weeks  before — to  load  them  and  to  wait  for  developments 
near  the  kuba  of  Bou-Said-Muttalib,  on  the  road  of  Dar- 
el-Beida.  He  would  join  him  there  late  in  the  afternoon 
and  would  bring  a  woman.  As  a  bassour — a  palanquin — 
would  be  necessary  for  her  use,  he  would  send  one.  Then, 
with  arms  bent,  holding  his  cudgel  behind  his  back  in 
native  fashion,  barefoot,  his  low  shoes  beating  a  tattoo 
against  his  chest  he  started  for  the  town  at  a  small  trot. 


CHAPTER  VI 

GAZI 

He  began  by  a  tour  of  the  Mechouar.    The  Senussiya 

had  not  been  idle,  and  the  big  piazza  was  already  crowded 

with  people.     The  invitation  to  congregate  in  arms  in  the 

streets  had  aroused  curiosity,  and  conjectures  as  to  its 

meaning  were  going  fast.     But,  as  it  was  yet  too  early  for 

the  iman's  purpose,  the  Senussiya,  while  keeping  alive 

the  feeling  of  unrest,  were  careful  to  so  multiply  the  number 

of  explanations  that  the  boldest  were  still  irresolute.     Sidi- 

Malik  listened,  made  sure  that  the  Kutubia  was  marshalling 

the  movement  and  waited  until  eleven  o'clock.     Then  he 

thought  that  this  sort  of  thing  had  gone  on  long  enough; 

he  needed  room  and  the  Soukhs  were  still  full.     To  get  rid 

of  the  crowd,  he  told  Habib,  the  rug  merchant,  that  a 

servant  of  the  Resident  General  had  just  reported  to  him  a 

conversation  that  had  passed  between  his  master  and  an 

unknown  party  speaking  through  the  telephone — might  the 

curse  of  Allah  silence  all  those  who  used  the  Mouthpiece 

of  the  Devil!    Allah  was  again  victorious.     The  First 

Chasseurs  d'Afrique  and  a  regiment  of  Disciplinaires  had 

again  been  utterly  routed  by  the  Beni  M*  Gills  of  Abd-er- 

Rhaman.     This  fanciful  piece  of  inside  information  had 

all  the  result  he  expected.     Habib  packed  up.     He  had 

pledged  himself  to  secrecy;   but  he  told  his  brother,  who 

told  in  turn  his  brother-in-law.     The  brother-in-law  told 

65 


66  IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

his  cousin's  cousin  and  his  wife's  nephew's  son;  with  the 
result  that,  in  less  than  twenty  minutes,  a  hundred  people, 
all  pledged  to  secrecy  by  an  oath  sworn  on  the  Zem-Zem 
waters  or  the  beard  of  the  Prophet,  were  at  work;  and  the 
report  that  a  Gazi  was  to  be  preached  spread  like  wildfire 
from  one  end  of  the  bazaars  to  the  other.  In  half  an  hour 
it  reached  the  Jewish  Mellah  whose  gates  instantly  closed. 

Isaac  ben  Levi,  the  filthiest  and  richest  Jew  in  Marakesh, 
was  already  running  like  a  deer,  despite  his  gelatinous 
rotundity.  A  minute  later  he  was  making  tearful  salam- 
alecs  in  front  of  Muley-Hassan.  Muley-Hassan,  although 
already  drunk,  was  on  the  point  of  swallowing  his  fourth 
absinthe.  He  kicked  the  Jew;  but  he  ordered  an  inter- 
preter to  ring  up  the  Resident  General.  The  Resident 
General  was  in  the  act  of  sitting  down  at  table.  He 
became  as  white  as  his  napkin,  and  he  roundly  cursed  the 
telephone  operator  for  not  giving  him  at  once  General 
de  Diolie.  The  General  called  up  Colonel  Jalard  of  the 
Fourth  Zouaves.  Colonel  Jalard  resumed  his  boots  with 
a  grunt.  He  forgot  his  dinner,  but  in  less  than  ten  minutes 
he  had  his  soldiers  running. 

By  this  time  Djei'lma  and  Mustapha  were  in  the  streets. 
Sidi-Malik,  laboring  under  the  curse  of  sudden  old  age  and 
blindness,  was  tremblingly  spreading  his  beads  on  the  floor, 
under  the  fourth  arcade  of  the  Soukhs.  Another  five 
minutes  and  the  French  soldiers  reached  Marakesh-el- 
Bali.  The  blind  beggar  recovered  his  sight  long  enough  to 
see  his  Circassian  mistress  and  the  frightened  Mustapha 
enter  the  bazaars.  An  "Allah  Akbar"  fell  from  some- 
where.    It  was  high  noon. 

Half  a  dozen  minarets  took  up  the  call  to  the  salat  before 


GAZI  67 

the  Kutubia  spoke.  Then  the  old  iman  himself  appeared 
at  the  top  of  the  tower.  His  clear  shrill  voice  went  to  the 
four  corners  of  Marakesh-el-Bali. 

"Allah  Akbar!" 

The  effect  was  immediate.  In  the  sun  of  Mechouar  and 
of  the  housetops,  in  the  blue  shade  of  the  narrow  streets, 
one  hundred  thousand  swarthy  faces  turned  towards 
Mecca,the  palms  of  two  hundred  thousand  open  hands  went 
up  near  as  many  ears,  and  from  one  hundred  thousand 
throats  came  the  hoarse  answer  to  the  sacramental  call. 

"Allah  Akbar!" 

"Lah  illah  il  Allah!  Ya  Saidna  Muhamed  rais  id 
Allah!"  clarioned  the  voice  from  the  tower. 

The  profession  of  faith  came  back  like  the  buzz  of  a 
million  bumblebees. 

"Lah  illah  il  Allah!  Ya  Saidna  Muhamed  rais  id 
Allah!" 

"I,  Hadj  Ibrahim  Muhamed,  son  of  Bou-Said  Musta- 
pha,  son  of  Eyoub,"  went  on  the  iman,  "  I,  the  lineal  de- 
scendant of  Marabout  Sidi-Daoud,  I  exhort,  in  Allah's 
name,  the  other  muezzins  to  repeat  my  words,  and  I 
shorten  the  prayer  as  it  is  permitted  by  the  Prophet  on  the 
days  when  the  Faithful  will  engage  in  fight.  Glory  be 
rendered  to  the  most  High  who  chose  me !  Let  all  hearken ! 
I  am  the  bearer  of  a  message..  In  the  dark  hours  of  the 
night  I  saw  the  radiant  face  of  Muhamed." 

The  crowd  below  made  a  startled  move.  All  looks, 
leaving  the  contemplation  of  an  abstract  point  in  the 
eastern  sky,  instantly  radiated  towards  the  tower.  The 
muezzins  of  the  other  mosques  repeated  the  extraordinary 
declaration.     A  dead  silence  followed. 


68    IN  THE  WAKE  OF  THE  GREEN  BANNER 

"At  my  side,"  the  iman  went  on,  "a  light  appeared;  and 
the  Prophet  of  the  Prophets  caught  me  by  the  hair  and  put 
me  on  my  feet.  'What  art  thou  doing,  Ibrahim  Mu- 
hamed?'  he  said.  'What  are  the  Faithful  doing?  Have 
all  in  Moghrib,  except  my  son  Abd-er-Rhaman,  forgotten 
that  words  are  women,  and  that  acts  alone  have  value  in 
the  eyes  of  the  Eternal  ?  All  know  that  Muley-Hassan  is 
the  despised  offspring  of  a  dancing  girl  and  a  palace  ser- 
vant; that  not  a  drop  of  Sheriff  blood  flows  in  his  veins. 
All  know  that  he  renounced  the  religion  of  the  Unique  God 
to  kneel  before  the  altar  of  the  Christian  idols  whose  impure 
cult  imposes  intemperate  excesses  of  forbidden  wine  and 
unclean  pork  meat.  Why,  therefore,  is  he  still  Emir-el- 
Mumenin  ?  Is  it  that  my  Faithful  are  afraid  of  cowardly 
Franzawis?'" 

From  somewhere,  in  the  direction  of  Marakesh-el- 
Djedid,  paf!  went  the  sharp  report  of  a  rifle.  Colonel 
Jalard  thundered,  calling  the  sharp-shooter  a  "  Nom  de 
Dieu  de  cochon!"  and  promising  him  six  months  on  the 
straw  of  a  military  jail.  Reeling  backwards,  the  iman,  hit 
the  low  parapet  and  took  a  perpendicular  plunge  into  the 
mosque's  court-yard.  Muley-Hassan,  who  saw  his  head- 
long fall  from  the  Kasbah,  laughed  a  good  deal  and 
felt  exceedingly  grateful.  But  the  shot  came  either  too 
early  or  too  late.  The  muezzin  in  the  nearest  minaret, 
yelled : 

"The  Rumi  dogs  have  killed  the  iman!  Go  ye,  Men  of 
the  Book!  Ye  have  the  superiority  of  numbers  and  the 
time  has  come  for  the  truth  to  become  known.  Even  if 
they  will  shoot  me,  I  will  say  that  the  Unbelievers  have 
ere  this  been  called  to  account.    Know  ye,  Children  of 


GAZI  69 

Omar,  that  again  two  regiments  of  the  Uncircumcised 
have  been  speared  and  mutilated  by  Abd-er-Rhaman's 
followers." 

Another  report.  The  speaker  took  the  same  short  road 
to  the  ground  the  iman  had  taken  before  him.  Another 
muezzin  shouted : 

"Allah  help  us!  The  Franzawis  are  killing  the  men  of 
God!  Why  do  you  wait,  O  my  brothers?  Let  him  who 
has  sins  to  expiate,  remember  the  promise  of  the  Book: 
'Those  who  die  for  the  Faith  I  shall  deliver  from  the 
solitude  of  the  grave  and  I  shall  grasp  them  by  the  hair 
to  lead  them  to  Allah's  feet.  The  Paradise  of  the  Most 
High  is  their  inheritance.  They  will  hear  the  songs  of 
birds  and  the  light  laugh  of  fountains.  Wondrous  fruits 
will  be  brought  them  by  the  houris.  And,  on  the  soft  green 
grass  where  the  playful  breeze  makes  waves,  velvet  eyes 
and  coral  lips  will  fill  to  overflow  their  thirsty  hearts.'  Go 
now!  The  Rumis  do  not  number  two  thousand.  This  is 
Gazi!  The  Holy  War.  Go!  Unfurl  the  green  banner. 
There  is  no  God  but  our  God,  and  Muhamed  is  the 
Prophet  of  God.     Allah  Akbar ! " 

Below  the  orator,  a  woman,  who  could  be  seen  from  the 
whole  of  the  Mechouar,  let  her  haik  fall  and  climbed  on  the 
parapet  of  the  terrace. 

"You  hear  what  he  says,"  she  cried.  "Go!  Will  you 
wait  until  women  take  the  lead  and  snatch  your  flissas 
from  your  fingers?     Go,  cowards!     Fissa!    Fissa!" 

They  were  going!  The  whole  male  population  of  Mara- 
kesh-el-Bali  was  surging  forward  towards  the  Kasbah. 
The  vaulted  passages  and  unclean  streets  were  too  narrow 
to  give  free  scope  to  their  cohorts,  and  there  were  men 


70  IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

who,  stumbling  on  the  disjointed  flag-stones  of  the  stair- 
ways, disappeared,  swallowed,  crushed  and  ground,  leaving 
blood  on  the  soles  of  a  thousand  naked  feet.  All  these 
fanatics  had  weapons,  even  the  old  men,  even  those  who 
had  not  yet  reached  the  age  of  adolescence.  Many  did  not 
even  know  where  they  were  going.  They  had  merely  seen 
the  green  banner  and  the  crowd.  It  was  enough  for  them 
to  know  that  the  flag  of  Islam,  the  Sacred  Standard  of 
insurrection,  had  been  unfurled  to  be  sure  that  the  Prophet 
was  again  leading  Ishmael.  Fanaticised  by  the  word  of 
Gazi,  they  offered  to  their  God  their  last  prayer,  and  im- 
plored the  favor  of  perishing  in  the  slaughter,  sure,  after 
such  a  death,  to  find  near  them,  in  the  sepulchral  darkness, 
the  angel  Azrael  and  the  promise  of  the  seventh  heaven. 
They  had  Berber  knives,  Algerine  flissas  and  khandjars. 
Most  of  them  were  Berbers  or  Arabs  accustomed  to  the  use 
of  weapons;  but  some  were  Moors  unskilled  in  warfare 
who  knew  that  they  would  find  the  courage  necessary  to 
the  satiating  of  their  hatreds  as  soon  as  the  first  drops  of 
tepid  blood,  gushing  from  a  stretched  throat,  would  glue 
their  trembling  fingers. 

It  soon  became  apparent  that  the  Senussiya  were  in  per- 
fect command,  and  that  some  plan  of  operation  was  stead- 
fastly adhered  to.  It  seemed  to  Colonel  Jalard  that  this 
plan  involved  a  vigorous  attack  on  the  undefended  Kasbah 
and  the  subsequent  plundering  of  the  ghetto.  Then,  and 
only  then,  would  the  turn  of  Marakesh-el-Djedid  come. 
Had  the  Colonel  of  the  Fourth  Zouaves  been  given  his 
choice,  he  would  have  confined  his  activities  to  the  pro- 
tection of  the  European  quarter;  but  the  Resident  General 
had  issued  orders  to  rescue  Muley-Hassan,  and  he  would 


GAZI  71 

have  to  attempt  the  impossible  task.  Upwards  of  twenty 
thousand  people,  those  that  had  no  other  weapons  than 
knives  and  khandjars,  were  moving  towards  the  Kasbah. 
The  French  troops  were  in  a  position  to  make  short  work 
of  this  rabble,  and  they  succeeded  in  carving  their  way  as 
far  as  the  Mechouar;  but  once  they  got  there  the  dance 
began.  The  Mechouar  had  become  a  trap.  As  soon  as 
Colonel  Jalard,  left  temporary  master  of  the  deserted 
piazza,  ventured  to  enter  the  narrow  streets  that  led  to  the 
Kasbah,  puffs  of  smoke  from  every  roof,  from  every  door 
and  from  every  mucharabieh,  came  to  make  him  realize 
that  this  was  to  be  a  lab-el-baroda  indeed,  a  game  of 
powder  compared  to  which  the  savage  stormings  of 
Constantine  and  Kalaa  would  look  like  child's  play.  The 
French  had  come  in  answer  to  a  riot  call,  and  had  no  artil- 
lery. In  these  conditions  the  combat  was  bound  to  de- 
generate into  a  duel  between  sharp-shooters.  It  mattered 
little,  at  such  a  short  distance,  if  the  rifles  of  the  insurgents 
were  somewhat  inferior  in  range  to  those  of  the  military. 
A  Berber  always  manages  to  get  hold  of  a  good  enough 
gun,  and  when  he  finds  himself  protected  by  the  parapet 
of  a  terrace,  he  can  shoot  fairly  well.  The  streets  of  old 
Marakesh  were  so  narrow  that  they  were  practically  im- 
passable. Each  house  would  have  to  be  stormed  in  turn, 
after  a  hand-to-hand  fight.  The  commander  of  the 
Frenchmen  saw  that  the  Berbers,  counting  only  those 
who  had  rifles,  outnumbered  him  fifteen  to  one.  He  re- 
treated to  the  centre  of  the  Mechouar  and  began  to  sweep 
steadily  with  his  fire  the  approaches  of  the  street  he  intended 
to  take  to  reach  the  Kasbah. 

His  aim  was  to  force  the  foe  to  keep  under  cover  a  few 


72  IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

minutes.  He  would  then  avail  himself  of  the  respite  to 
rush  a  storming  party  to  the  first  houses.  These  captured, 
he  would  meet  the  insurgents  on  their  own  level  and  at  a 
decided  advantage;  as  he  would  then  be  able  to  mow  down 
all  who  would  leave  the  roofs  for  the  court-yards  or  the 
streets.  But  this  plan,  consecrated  by  three-quarters  of  a 
century's  success  in  North  African  warfare,  failed  on  this 
occasion.  While  his  attention  was  engaged  on  the  Kasbah's 
side,  the  Berbers  opened  fire  in  his  rear. 

"Cessez  le  feu!  Formez  le  carre!"  he  shouted.  "Atten- 
tion pour  les  feux  de  salve!    En  Joue!    Feu!" 

His  horse  sank  under  him  as  the  bugler  was  clarioning 
his  last  command.  His  fire  was  now  sweeping  the  four 
sides  of  the  piazza.  But  he  saw  with  dismay  that  his 
own  men  were  dropping  like  leaves. 

"  By  God ! "  he  grumbled.  "  If  this  goes  on  much  longer, 
they  will  clean  us  out." 

At  this  moment  his  attention  was  caught  by  Spahis  in  red 
coats  who  came  charging  at  full  speed  down  the  street 
leading  to  the  European  quarter.  They  were  charging 
with  drawn  blades,  making  way  for  a  staff  officer.  Two 
of  them,  shot  from  the  housetops,  fell  from  their  saddles 
just  as  a  party  of  Berbers,  issuing  from  an  alley,  were 
blocking  the  path.  A  hand-to-hand  scuffle  followed. 
Colonel  Jalard  saw  the  sabres  flash  and  reappear,  red  to 
the  hilt.  The  officer  emptied  his  revolver  in  the  face  of 
his  assailants.  They  broke,  but  only  two  Spahis  remained. 
Before  they  had  crossed  the  Mechouar,  one  of  them  fell  and 
lay  on  his  face.  Jalard  had  already  recognized  General  de 
Diolie's  officier  d'ordonnance.  A  second  later,  d'Ornano 
checked  his  horse,  which  snorted,  his  nose  almost  on  the 


GAZI  73 

bayonets.  Looking  straight  at  his  superior,  the  Corsican 
saluted. 

"Colonel,"  he  said,  "you  are  to  retreat  instantly  and 
take  dispositions  to  defend  the  approaches  of  Bab-el- 
Kasaf,  in  Marakesh-el-Djedid.     Order  of  the  General." 

"Are  we  attacked  on  the  side  of  Bab-el-Moumen ? " 
came  the  query. 

"Yes." 

"  Good  thing  you  came.  I  was  wondering  whether  we 
were  going  to  protect  a  drunken  pig  and  let  the  colonists 
fight  for  themselves." 

He  ordered  the  bugler  to  sound  the  "Garde  a  vous." 
This  was  done.     D'Ornano  gave  him  his  horse. 

"Par  files  de  quatre"  he  commanded.  "Pas  gym- 
nastique  en  avant.  .  .  .  Marche!" 

At  his  side  the  bugler  fell.  D'Ornano  picked  up  the 
bugle. 

"Can  you  blow?"  asked  the  Colonel.  "All  right! 
Give  us  the  charge." 

The  Corsican  brought  the  bugle  to  his  lips  and  started 
the  tune: 

Y'a  d'la  goutte  a  boire,  la  haut  .   .   . 

Y'a  d'la  goutte  a  boire. 
Y'a  d'la  goutte  a  boire,  la  haut.  .  .  . 

"  Faster,  d'Ornano,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  or  we  won't  be 
able  to  get  there  at  all.  That's  better.  On,  ye  children, 
for  the  glory  of  the  Fourth  Zouaves.  Remember  the 
laurels  of  Laghouat  and  Zaatcha!  Faster,  d'Ornano! 
Faster!  .  .  .  Ah,  sacrebleu!  .  .  .  Where  is  Ansenin  ?  Tell 
him  to  assume  command.  .  .  .  Tell  him  ..." 


74  IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

He  coughed  and  spat  blood.  D'Ornano  succeeded  in 
keeping  him  on  his  horse.  On  the  housetops,  the  foe 
kept  up  his  relentless  fire.  A  little  further  up,  they  found 
a  mob  of  tall,  half-naked  Berbers  packing  the  passage. 
The  Lieutenant-Colonel  ordered  to  clean  the  street  with 
steel. 

A  hideous  advance  began.  After  a  scrimmage  of  five 
minutes  the  column  began  to  move,  gaining  by  inches, 
pushing  its  way  through  raw  flesh,  hitting  with  the  butt 
when  the  bayonet  missed  the  mark.  At  d'Ornano's  side, 
a  zouave  saved  his  life  by  pushing  his  thumb  in  a  man's 
face  and  extracting  the  eye  after  the  small  finger  of  his  left 
hand  had  been  bitten  off.  The  Captain  himself  was  com- 
pelled to  raise  a  horseman  by  the  boot  and  throw  him  on 
the  other  side  of  his  horse  to  escape  being  punctured  by  a 
flissa.  The  survivors  were  now  walking  on  corpses. 
When  they  reached  Marakesh-el-Djedid,  they  were  no 
more  than  seven  hundred. 

As  soon  as  he  saw  the  way  clear,  d'Ornano  took  the  horse 
of  the  only  spahi  who  remained  and  galloped  to  Bab-el- 
Moumen,  where  he  had  left  his  chief.  A  handful  of 
spahis  and  a  battalion  of  Foreign  Legion  defended  the 
town  on  that  side.  Some  Turcos  manned  three  machine- 
guns  on  the  ramparts.  A  single  battery  of  75  mm.  spat 
fire  and  blood  on  the  native  town.  D'Ornano  bit  his  lips. 
He  dismounted,  entered  a  house  and  climbed  the  stairs 
four  at  a  time. 

On  the  roof  he  found  General  de  Diolie,  bleeding,  on  the 
shoulder  of  a  captain.  A  dozen  officers  and  sergeants 
looked  on  in  grave  concern. 

"  Here  isd'Ornano! "  exclaimed  Lieutenant  de  Vaudreuil. 


GAZI  75 

He  helped  lay  the  General  down,  his  back  against  the 
wall.     D'Ornano  came  nearer  and  saluted. 

"  I  report  that  the  Fourth  Zouaves  is  holding  the  gate  of 
Bab-el-Kasaf,"  he  said.  Then  he  added  with  more  feeling, 
"Nothing  serious,  I  hope,  General?  Did  anybody  send 
for  a  surgeon  ?    How  do  you  feel  ?" 

"  Bad."  And  the  wounded  man  grinned  sadly.  "  Don't 
send  for  a  surgeon.  It's  no  use.  .  .  .  How  many  men  did 
Jalard  bring  back  with  him?" 

"Seven  hundred  at  the  most.  Lieutenant-Colonel 
Ansenin  is  in  command." 

"Was  Jalard  shot  down?" 

"Yes.  Shot  through  the  chest  as  we  were  leaving  the 
Mechouar." 

"Is  he  alive?" 

The  Captain  remained  silent.  The  General  under- 
stood. 

"D'Ornano,"  he  asked  suddenly,  "how  long  can  we 
hold  out  ?     Your  opinion  frankly." 

"About  three-quarters  of  an  hour." 

"What  would  you  do  in  my  place  ?" 

The  Corsican  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  irritation. 

"  What  could  I  do  ?  Without  the  men,  we  are  powerless 
to  do  anything." 

"You  think  they  will  murder  the  colonists  and  sell  the 
women  as  slaves  ?  " 

"Evidently.  Only  Abd-er-Rhaman  could  prevent  a 
promiscuous  slaughter;  and  he  is  in  the  Atlas." 

"What  then?" 

"Nothing.  We  are  to  die  here;  it's  very  simple.  My 
advice  is  that  you  carve  '  Remember  Marakesh'  with  a 


76  IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

bayonet  on  the  walls,  as  an  English  soldier  did  of  old  on 
the  curbstone  of  Cawnpore's  sinister  well.  More  the  pity 
that  we  cannot  forward  to  the  General  Staff  all  the  mis- 
cellaneous information  we  have  got, — the  strength  in  men 
and  rifles  of  each  tribe,  the  records  of  the  secret  agents  we 
can  trust,  and,  above  all,  the  topographical  surveys  made 
by  our  spies  in  the  mountainous  districts.  This  would 
simplify  reconquest;  and,  by  God,  our  successors  would 
know  whom  to  hang  for  this  day's  work." 

There  was  a  silence.  Hit  by  a  spent  bullet,  a  sergeant 
staggered  and  fell.  D'Ornano  averted  his  glance  as  soon 
as  he  saw  him  resume  his  feet.  His  frown  deepened  as  he 
looked  in  the  direction  of  the  ramparts.  General  de  Diolie 
was  sinking  rapidly. 

"D'Ornano,"  he  said  at  length,  "I  have  keys  in  my  left 
pocket.     Take  them  out,  will  you?" 

The  Captain  obeyed. 

"Unpin  my  cross.  I  hate  to  think  that  it  will  fall  in  the 
clutches  of  these  rascals.  You  know  where  the  papers 
are.  Where  others  would  fail  in  the  mission,  I  believe  that 
you  are  the  man  to  succeed.  Do  what  you  can  to  reach 
Oujda,  or  Figuig.  If  you  fail,  you  won't  die  more  stupidly 
in  the  bled  than  you  would  here.  Go  now,  and  remember 
Marakesh." 

The  Corsican  kneeled  to  take  the  hand  of  his  chief. 

"  Is  there  anything  else  that  I  should  attempt  ?"  he  asked. 
"Mademoiselle  de  Diolie?" 

"Gisele?"  said  the  moribund.  "God  bless  you,  boy  I 
She  went  riding  an  hour  ago  on  the  Mogador  road. 
Shoot  her  dead  rather  than  let  her  fall  into  the  clutches  of 
these  scoundrels." 


GAZI  77 

These  were  his  last  words,  and  a  moment  later  the  end 
came.  As  soon  as  he  was  convinced  that  his  chief  was  dead 
the  Corsican  hurried  down  the  stairs.  His  way  lay  across 
the  Place  d'Armes.  As  he  reached  the  other  side  of  the 
square,  he  met  a  native  house-servant  fleeing  for  his  life 
from  a  dozen  Spaniards. 

The  piazza  was  fast  filling  with  hysterical  mothers  car- 
rying weeping  children.  D'Ornano  knew  only  too  well 
that  a  general  escape  was  a  forlorn  hope.  Perhaps  a  few 
men,  like  himself  with  nothing  to  lose,  might  manage  to 
reach  the  walls  and  attempt  flight  by  way  of  the  gardens. 
But  all  who  were  hampered  by  women  and  children  would 
remain  corralled  on  the  piazza  until  the  coming  of  the 
Moslems. 

It  was  Khadour  who  came  to  open  General  de  Diolie's 
door.  The  Corsican  was  too  preoccupied  to  notice  the 
embarrassment  the  native  betrayed.  Brushing  past  with- 
out a  word  of  explanation,  he  ran  up-stairs  to  the  General's 
private  office  and  began  rummaging  through  the  desk  for 
the  papers.  These  secured,  he  hurried  down,  meeting 
Khadour  on  the  way. 

"Horses  fissa,  fissa,  jehanum  ke  marfik,"  he  ordered. 
"Also  fig-cakes  and  water.     Where  is  the  Saida ?" 

"  Gone  riding,  ya  Sidi." 

"Where?" 

"On  the  road  of  Dar-el-Beida." 

D'Ornano  took  him  by  the  throat.  "Where?"  he 
repeated. 

"  On  the  road  of  Mogador,  ya  Sidi.  Forgive  thy  servant. 
I  failed  to  remember." 

" Barca,"  interrupted  the  Corsican.    "Never  mind  the 


78  IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

horses  just  now.  Is  this  the  room  of  Sidi  Leitoun?  In 
with  thee." 

Inside  he  found  the  painter,  pale  and  worn  after  a  con- 
finement of  two  weeks,  busy  with  a  belt  of  cartridges  and 
an  automatic  Colt.  He  had  been  gazing  through  the  tre- 
foil-shaped opening  that  looked  on  the  European  town. 

"What  in  thunder  is  the  row  over  there?"  he  cried  as 
he  caught  sight  of  his  friend. 

Indicating  by  a  gesture  that  his  explanation  was  only 
postponed,  the  Corsican  went  to  the  aperture.  Near  the 
ramparts,  at  the  other  extremity  of  the  city,  houses  were 
already  burning.  The  mob  had  almost  reached  the  Place 
d'Armes,  and  colonists  were  already  shooting.  Marakesh's 
European  inhabitants  had  now  deserted  the  housetops. 
While  some  were  seeking  concealment  in  the  cellars,  the 
greater  number,  driven  by  the  smoke,  had  descended  into 
the  street  to  die  in  the  open.  D'Ornano  caught  sight  of  a 
party  of  Berbers  on  the  terraces  of  the  houses  that  over- 
looked the  other  side  of  the  piazza. 

As  the  hillmen  began  shooting,  the  crowd  oscillated  like 
an  ocean  wave  beating  against  the  rocks.  Until  now  the 
air  had  been  filled  with  deafening  screams.  This  was  fol- 
lowed by  an  impressive  silence  as  the  colonists,  corralled 
like  helpless  cattle,  now  realized  that  the  end  had  come. 
Women  were  seen  on  their  knees  begging  sweethearts  to 
forego  shooting  long  enough  for  a  last  kiss.  Here  a  mother 
offered  as  a  mark  to  the  bullets  her  little  girl.  There  a 
husband  was  trying  to  make  up  his  mind,  determined  and 
yet  loath  to  shoot  the  dear  one  who  had  slept  on  his 
shoulder. 

D'Ornano  turned  to  Leyton.     "General  de  Diolie  is 


GAZI  79 

dead,"  he  explained.  "He  has  ordered  me  to  save  our  im- 
portant papers.  I  am  going  to  try  to  leave  by  the  Mogador 
road.  We  will  meet  only  women  and  children  in  the  native 
city  and  we  may  get  through.    Are  you  coming?" 

Ley  ton  hesitated.  To  save  himself  when  the  women 
and  children  huddled  in  the  square  were  facing  death  or 
slavery  did  not  seem  altogether  right  to  a  man  of  his 
training.  Still,  Gisele  was  riding  on  the  Mogador  road 
and  she  had  the  first  claim.     He  nodded. 

An  exclamation  from  d'Ornano  startled  him.  Khadour 
had  vanished.  While  the  Captain  was  looking  through  the 
aperture,  the  native  had  managed,  by  movements  so 
cautious  that  they  had  escaped  Leyton's  notice,  to  get  near 
the  door.     D'Ornano  hurried  after  him. 

When  he  reached  the  court-yard  he  found  the  back  gate 
open.  He  knew  he  must  forestall  the  faithless  servant's 
next  move.  Calling  to  Leyton  to  join  him,  he  entered  the 
stables. 

"Thank  God,  the  horses  are  saddled,"  the  painter 
heard  him  cry.  "Hurry.  The  swine  has  shown  his  hand 
too  far  ahead  of  time.  He  should  not  have  looked  at 
Mile,  de  Diolie  as  he  did  last  night  at  supper." 

He  stopped  his  companion  as  he  was  in  the  act  of  mount- 
ing, looked  the  saddle  over,  and  tightened  the  girth  with 
his  teeth.  They  started  at  a  mad  gallop  in  the  direction  of 
the  ramparts. 

D'Ornano  knew  of  a  way  of  escape  through  the  negro 
freedmen's  village,  the  Beni-Ramasses — sons  of  the  picked 
up — as  they  are  called  in  Sabir.  Here  mud  huts  had  been 
erected  against  the  walls.  The  Corsican  dismounted  in  a 
blind  alley  and  kicked  at  a  door.   An  old  man  came  out. 


80  IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

"We  want  to  leave  the  city,"  said  the  Corsican.  "Let 
us  through  or  else  he  who  has  a  right  to  know  shall  learn 
by  what  hole  smuggled  weapons  enter  Marakesh.  Wc  are 
Sidi-Malik's  friends." 

The  old  negro  looked  at  him  furtively,  found  what  he 
wanted — namely,  the  scar  d'Ornano  bore  on  his  forehead, 
and  threw  the  door  wide  open.  Sidi-Malik's  associates 
knew  all  about  Abd-er-Rhaman's  kidnappers. 

The  Corsican  led  his  horse  by  the  bridle  inside  the  hovel. 
Ley  ton  followed.  Swallowed  up  in  ill-smelling  darkness, 
they  went  through  the  secret  passage  that  led  under  the 
city  wall.  Another  door  opened.  They  were  on  the  thresh- 
old of  another  mud  hut  in  the  huerta.  The  gray  ramparts 
were  now  behind  them. 

In  a  flash  they  were  again  in  the  saddle.  Following  the 
banks  of  a  seguia,  they  made  for  the  main  road  that  led  to 
Mogador. 

They  rode  on  for  an  hour.  The  Corsican  now  found  a 
chance  to  acquaint  Leyton  with  what  had  occurred  since 
twelve  o'clock.  The  recital  was  so  crisp,  it  reflected  so 
clearly  the  soldierly  qualities  of  the  narrator,  that  the 
American  marvelled  that  a  man  who  reddened  or  paled  at 
a  word  of  railing  or  criticism  should  in  troublous  hours 
evince  all  the  qualities  of  tempered  steel. 

It  did  not  escape  him,  however,  that  d'Ornano  grew 
reticent  as  soon  as  he  came  to  relate  the  scene  that  had 
taken  place  between  the  General  and  himself.  Still,  reti- 
cence was  so  customary  with  him  when  speaking  of  Gisele 
that  the  American  had  begun  to  wonder  whether  this  was 
not  due  to  the  fact  that  the  young  woman  had  so  often 
made  him  a  target  for  the  shafts  of  her  sarcasm.    Presently 


GAZI  81 

he  heard  him  express  his  annoyance  that  they  should  not 
yet  have  come  across  her. 

"You  have  seen  what  grounds  I  had  for  distrusting 
Khadour,"  he  added.  "The  fellow  is  sure  to  pursue  us 
and  you  can  trust  him  to  bring  friends  along.  If  we  should 
be  unlucky  enough  to  miss  your  cousin,  she  will  run  straight 
into  the  arms  of  these  rascals." 

They  were  now  going  uphill.  Ley  ton,  who  turned  to 
look,  warned  his  companion  that  the  whole  of  Marakesh 
seemed  to  be  in  flames. 

The  Corsican  reined  in  his  horse.  In  the  stillness  he 
heard  the  noise  of  horse's  hoofs.  The  next  moment  Gi- 
sele,  riding  at  breakneck  speed,  came  into  sight. 

Shouting  to  her  to  stop,  the  Corsican  uttered  a  cry  of 
warning.  Startled  by  the  expected  meeting  in  this  spot, 
the  girl  pulled  the  bridle  so  sharply  that  the  horse,  taken 
unawares,  missed  his  footing  and  stumbled. 

Gisele  was  unhurt,  but  the  horse  was  done  for.  Before 
Ali,  who  followed  in  her  tracks,  could  come  to  her  assist- 
ance, she  was  on  her  feet.  When  Leyton  told  her  that 
Marakesh  was  in  the  hands  of  the  Moslems,  she  turned  to 
the  Corsican. 

"And  you  are  here,  Captain  d'Ornano?  You  have  left 
my  father?" 

With  this,  she  ordered  Ali  to  bring  her  his  own  horse, 
and  before  the  Corsican  was  given  a  chance  to  explain,  she 
had  snatched  the  bridle  from  the  hands  of  the  chaouch. 
Leyton  thought  it  was  time  to  interfere.  But  d'Ornano, 
pointing  down  the  road,  interrupted  him. 

"  Look!  Get  back  to  your  horse!  Mile,  de  Diolie  must 
understand  that  she  can  be  of  no  help  to  her  father." 


82  IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

A  so}  of  pursuers  had  appeared.  The  Corsican  turned 
to  Gisele,  never  doubting  that  the  newcomers  had  been 
led  hither  by  Khadour. 

"Ali  will  give  you  his  horse.  He  will  easily  find  his  way 
back  to  Marakesh,"  he  said.  "  But  you  must  come  with  us." 

"I  sha'n't,"  she  snapped.  "My  place  is  over  there,  and 
so  is  yours.    You  should  not  have  left  him." 

D'Ornano  became  livid.     He  called  Ali. 

"Take  the  Saida  and  put  her  on  horseback,"  he 
ordered.    "Quick!" 

In  the  native  town  pandemonium  was  loose  and  the 
looting  of  the  Jewish  mellah  had  already  began.  At  the 
end  of  his  interview  with  Mustapha,  which  had  reached 
its  fitting  climax  when,  to  the  accompaniment  of  Djeilma's 
peals  of  laughter,  he  had  kicked  the  now  almost  naked 
grand-eunuch  into  the  street,  Sidi-Malik  had  bought  a  bas- 
sour  and  had  sent  the  Circassian,  under  the  guard  of  two 
small  boys,  to  the  place  where  Anoun-Dialo  was  waiting. 
Then  he  had  joined  the  crowd  that  rushed  to  the  attack 
of  the  mellah. 

In  so  doing  he  was  not  impelled  by  any  particular  desire 
to  take  a  direct  part  in  the  disturbance;  but  the  idea  that 
he  would  not  see  the  Jews  reap  what  he  considered  their 
just  deserts  was  simply  more  than  he  could  stand.  True  to 
his  Berber  origin,  he  despised  the  Moors  and  the  negroes; 
hated,  with  the  same  uncompromising  eclectism,  Arabs, 
Christian  dogs  and  even  all  Berbers  who  were  not  of  his 
own  tribe;  but  for  the  Jews  he  cherished  a  refined  hatred. 
Towards  them  he  felt  rabid  pure  and  simple.  Not  that  he 
had  ever  felt  the  weight  of  the  money-lender's  oppression — 


GAZI 

he  stole  and  never  borrowed — but  he  could  not  admit  that 
a  man  could  be  a  man  and  be  so  meek  as  to  allow  himself 
to  be  struck  on  the  mouth  without  drawing  a  knife.  He 
had  also  old  scores  to  settle.  On  two  or  three  occasions  the 
cunning  of  a  Jew  had  drawn  him  into  a  bad  bargain,  and 
he  had  a  wonderful  memory  for  wrongs.  The  wrongs  he 
had  suffered!  He  had  long  since  forgotten  the  hold-up  of 
a  Jew  in  Ouezzan,  and  the  burglary  perpetrated  in  the 
house  of  another,  in  Arzila. 

He  had  come  without  arms,  so  as  not  to  be  tempted  to 
take  a  conspicuous  part  in  the  slaughter;  but  he  soon 
found  an  occupation.  It  did  not  take  him  long  to  dis- 
cover that  the  men  who  fought  in  front,  and  who  had  had 
the  first  chance  at  looting  property,  were  blockheads  who 
had  been  content  with  merely  preying  upon  household 
utensils,  furniture,  clothing  and  minor  valuables.  He 
reasoned  that  Jews  were  not  the  people  who  would  leave 
gems  and  precious  metals  unconcealed,  especially  when 
the  rumor  of  an  uprising  had  reached  them  an  hour  ago. 
Accordingly,  he  undertook  a  systematic  search  of  the 
dwellings.  His  theory  did  not  seem  at  first  to  be  borne  out 
by  the  facts;  for  he  visited  a  dozen  houses,  stumbling  on 
corpses  at  every  step,  wthout  gathering  more  than  an 
insignificant  plunder.  But  at  last  his  obstinacy  was  re- 
warded. He  discovered  in  a  cellar  a  large  cask  of  olives. 
The  fruit  had  apparently  been  there  a  long  time,  for  it  was 
decayed.  This  in  itself  aroused  his  suspicions.  Other 
casks  had  stood  around  this  one;  their  marks  were  left 
on  the  damp  earth.  They  might  have  been  placed  there 
as  a  bait,  he  thought.  If  so,  they  had  answered  their 
purpose;    the  decayed  fruit  was  all  that  remained.     He 


. 


IN  THE  WAKE  OF  THE  GREEN  BANNER 


upturned  the  cask,  and  saw  with  amazement  that  it  was 
half  filled  with  gold  coin. 

All  told  there  might  be  there  six  thousand  pounds  sterling 
It  was  a  heavy  load.  He  looked  around  for  something  in 
which  he  could  deposit  and  conceal  his  haul,  for,  above  all, 
he  wished  to  leave  the  house  without  attracting  attention. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  the  belt  worn  by  a  near-by  corpse 
was  precisely  what  he  needed.  He  was  in  the  act  of  un- 
tying it,  when  he  noticed  that  a  man,  a  mulatto,  had  just 
entered  the  cellar. 

He  was  on  his  feet  in  a  twinkle.  He  asked  the  new- 
comer what  he  wanted.  The  mulatto,  pointing  to  the  gold 
and  showing  his  white  teeth  in  a  broad  smile,  answered 
cynically : 

"Half  of  that." 

" Macash!"  roared  Sidi-Malik  in  pure  Sabir.  "Not  a 
douro,  not  a  mitkal!  Mabovl  enta,  beni-kelbf  Wait,  thou, 
son  of  a  she-donkey!  Thou  wilt  instead  get  half  of  this, 
if  I  can  break  it  on  thy  back! " 

He  brandished  his  dreaded  Berber  cudgel,  the  matrack. 
The  scuffle  which  followed  did  not  last  long.  The  mulatto 
dodged  his  first  and  second  blow,  but  the  third  caught  him 
on  the  ribs  and  brought  him  to  his  knees  panting. 

"Barca!" — that  will  do,  commented  Sidi-Malik  gener- 
ously. "But  make  a  move  and  thou  wilt  get  a  broken 
head,  thou  black  camel  from  Sokoto!  How  did  I  strike, 
eh?  Pretty  good?  Thou  wilt  get  nothing  but  blows  at 
this  game,  Sudan.  I  advise  thee  to  learn  first  how  to  use 
thy  khandjars." 

The  mulatto  did  not  thank  him  for  the  lecture.  He  had 
two  ribs  broken.     Probably  Sidi-Malik,  skilled  in  such 


GAZI  85 

things,  had  felt  the  snap,  hence  his  willingness  to  spare  the 
fallen  man.  He  went  back  to  the  gold,  made  up  his 
bundle  and  left  the  house  without  further  mishap. 

He  felt  that  after  this  he  was  altogether  too  rich  to  be  in 
the  streets;  too  rich  even  to  remain  another  day  in  Mara- 
kesh.  He  knew  that  a  period  of  unrest  was  sure  to  follow 
the  upheaval.  Periods  of  unrest  are  disagreeable  to  the 
capitalist,  and  he  already  counted  himself  a  rich  man. 
Now,  that  to  his  previous  savings  and  to  the  two  thousand 
odd  pounds  he  had  extracted  from  the  belt  of  the  howling 
Mustapha  was  added  this  new  haul,  he  might  perhaps  be 
worth  fifty  thousand  dollars,  without  reckoning  the  market 
value  of  four  camels  and  a  woman.  But  the  mob,  after 
having  wrecked  the  Kasbah  and  plundered  the  ghetto,  had 
ere  this  begun  to  set  fire  to  the  European  part  of  the  town, 
and  it  was  only  too  evident  that  all  hopes  for  a  quick 
restoration  of  order  had  gone.  The  best  that  could  be 
hoped  was  that  the  native  authorities  would  soon  recover 
the  upper  hand.  If  they  did,  their  first  move  would  be  to 
claim,  in  Abd-er-Rhaman's  name,  the  share  of  one-fifth 
of  all  plunder  due  to  the  Prophet  and  his  descendants. 
And  Sidi-Malik  was  not  only  unwilling  to  part  with  some 
of  his  holdings  in  favor  of  a  Sultan  whose  temporal  author- 
ity a  tribesman  born  in  the  Bled-es-Sibla  is  always  disposed 
to  contest;  but  all  his  life  he  had  been  in  fear  of  questioning. 
Accordingly,  he  took  at  a  brisk  pace  the  road  leading  to  the 
kuba  of  Bou-Said  Muttalib.  Anoun-Dialo  and  Djeilma 
were  ready  for  departure  He  issued  orders  for  an  im- 
mediate start. 

It  was  only  four  o'clock;  but  the  insurgents  were  by  this 
time  absolute  masters  of  the  city.     The  Fourth  Zouaves 


86    IN  THE  WAKE  OF  THE  GREEN  BANNER 

had  fallen  to  the  last  man  in  the  attempt  to  hold  the  gates 
of  Marakesh-el-Djedid  against  the  tide,  and  now  fires 
flared  up  every  minute,  marking  the  progress  of  the  insur- 
rection in  the  European  quarter.  The  caravan  proceeded 
for  two  hours  without  meeting  a  soul.  Then,  in  the  quiet 
that  enshrouds  the  earth  at  the  hour  of  sunset,  Sidi-Malik 
thought  he  heard  shots. 

He  ordered  a  halt.  Providing  against  contingencies,  he 
inspected  the  magazine  of  his  rifle.  A  day  like  this  every- 
thing was  possible;  and  he  remembered  that  caravans,  in 
times  that  were  not  so  distant,  had  been  raided  by  sofs — 
plundering  parties  of  rebels — at  the  very  doors  of  Mara- 
kesh.  He  commanded  Anoun-Dialo  to  take  his  Tuarregg 
lance.  They  waited.  In  the  dry  atmosphere  of  this  quiet 
hour,  shots  could  be  heard  for  two  miles.  Five  minutes 
passed.  They  heard  shots  again,  this  time  nearer.  The 
camel-driver  was  now  able  to  distinguish,  between  two 
reports  of  a  Martini,  the  yelping  of  a  revolver.  He  under- 
stood at  once  that  some  Christians  were  making  an  attempt 
to  escape  and  that  a  sof  was  in  pursuit.  As  there  might  be 
something  to  gain  without  much  trouble,  he  resolved  to 
wait  for  developments.  The  place  was  good  for  a  hold-up. 
From  the  spot  where  they  had  halted,  Marakesh,  drowned 
in  a  sea  of  green  palms  that  were  fast  becoming  purple,  was 
no  longer  visible.  They  were  in  the  bled,  in  the  open 
country.  Among  the  driss,  palmettos,  aloes  and  Barbary 
cacti,  wild  flowers  bloomed  profusely.  The  Atlas  range, 
which  appeared  so  near  an  hour  ago,  had  removed  beyond 
a  screen  of  misty  light;  and  its  blue  chain,  sharply  deline- 
ated against  the  sky,  was  so  uniform  in  tone  that  it  gave 
the  impression  of  an  abrupt  wall  bordering  the  horizon 


Aroua  mena  !     Sidi  d'Ornano  !     Sidi  Leitoun  !     Akh  Arbi  "... 


\>  9f  THE 


of 
iLIFO 


R^> 


GAZI  87 

on  the  south.  The  splendid  light  fell  like  a  microscopical 
powder  of  pink,  gold  and  lavender  blended  in  astonishing 
shades,  making  a  contrast  equally  sharp  with  the  blue  of 
the  mountain  range  and  the  dull  tones,  red  ochre,  jaune  de 
Naples,  burnt  Sienna  and  neutral  pearl  gray  of  the  broken 
ground  in  front. 

Suddenly  Sidi-Malik  saw  a  mounted  woman,  a  European 
in  riding-dress,  spring  into  sight.  She  was  followed  by 
two  horsemen.  Behind  them,  four  Arabs  were  in  hot  pur- 
suit. The  camel-driver  saw  one  of  these  shoulder  his  rifle 
and  fire,  but  evidently  without  result,  for  both  the  Naza- 
renes  brought  their  revolvers  to  the  eye  and  sent  their 
answer. 

They  were  now  facing  Sidi-Malik.  The  camel-driver 
felt  like  laughing  when  he  saw  one  of  the  Arabs  roll  like 
a  rabbit  and  bite  the  dust  after  a,  terrible  fall.  But  his 
mirth  died  on  his  lips.  A  lump — tenderness,  or  admira- 
tion, or  both — grew  in  his  throat;  and  it  was  with  a  voice 
so  hoarse  as  to  be  scarcely  intelligible  that  he  yelled  to 
Anoun-Dialo : 

"Arona  mena!  Sidi  d'Ornano!  Sidi  Leitoun,  akh  arbi  !" 

Then  d'Ornano,  Gisele  and  Ley  ton  witnessed  an 
extraordinary  scene.  Sidi-Malik  did  not  even  attempt  to 
shoot.  He  sent  his  mehari  sailing  like  a  bird  into  the 
midst  of  the  three  remaining  pursuers  and  took  his  sword. 
The  first  man  he  met  he  cleft  from  the  brow  to  the  collar, 
his  mehari  at  the  same  time  colliding  with  the  horse  with 
such  force  that  the  four  of  them  were  brought  to  the 
ground  in  a  cloud  of  dust.  Anoun-Dialo,  coming  behind, 
managed  to  insert  five  inches  of  spear  in  the  back  of 
Khadour.     The   remaining  raider   took  to  flight,  to  be 


88  IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

stopped  almost  instantly  by  d'Ornano's  bullet.  In  two 
minutes — it  could  scarcely  have  been  more;  Gisele  had  had 
scarcely  time  to  slacken  her  breakneck  speed,  wheel  her 
horse  around  and  join  Leyton — it  was  over  and  the  two 
rescuers  were  greeting  their  friends.  Although  he  had 
sprained  his  left  knee  and  limped  badly,  Sidi-Malik  was  all 
smiles.  He  was  richer  by  four  horses,  four  saddles  and 
their  trappings. 

Gisele  had  become  hysterical.  Sidi-Malik  hastily 
helped  her  into  Djeilma's  bassour.  Although  the  camel- 
driver  felt  that  they  were  safe  from  further  pursuit  as 
soon  as  Anoun-Dialo  reported  that  he  had  made  certain 
with  his  flissa  that  none  of  the  four  raiders  would  return 
to  tell  the  tale,  he  thought  it  best  to  push  on.  Two  hours 
later  they  pitched  camp  under  the  stars,  sheltered  by  a 
cactus  hedge  from  the  keen  breeze  that  came  from  the 
snow-clad  Atlas. 


CHAPTER  VII 

IN  THE   WILDS   OF  THE  ADRAR 

"  Who  does  not  cross  the  Adrar  N'draren — Great  Atlas — 
foregoes  the  chance  to  meet  deviltry  face  to  face,"  runs  the 
Arab  proverb.  Its  purport  is  to  warn  the  traveller  against 
the  dangers  he  will  run  at  the  hands  of  the  fierce  tribes  of 
the  Bled-es-Sibla.  But  Sidi-Malik,  himself  a  Berber,  knew 
that  a  flight  across  the  wilds  was  safer  than  an  attempt  to 
reach  the  sea.  As  Captain  d'Ornano  shared  this  view, 
the  caravan  began  at  daybreak  its  slow  march  towards  the 
mountains  of  the  south. 

The  painter,  the  Corsican  and  the  camel-driver  had 
spent  part  of  the  night  discussing  the  best  course  to  pursue. 
Ley  ton  had,  at  first,  been  in  favor  of  a  march  towards 
Mogador  or  Mazagan,  where  Mile,  de  Diolie,  the  Captain 
and  himself  might  perchance  board  an  English  vessel.  Sidi- 
Malik  and  d'Ornano  had  trodden  heavily  upon  this  hope. 
In  their  opinion,  the  road  which  all  fugitives  from  Mara- 
kesh  were  bound  to  choose,  would  prove  the  most  danger- 
ous. While  it  was  certain  that  raiding  sofs  would  block 
the  way  to  the  sea  and  diligently  search  all  caravans, 
plundering  even  those  that  concealed  no  Nazarenes  in 
disguise,  the  Berbers  of  the  mountains  would,  on  account  of 
their  isolation,  be  the  last  to  get  news  of  the  disaster. 

As  Sidi-Malik  carried  the  anaia  and  the  mezrag — the 


90  IN  THE  WAKE  OF  THE  GREEN  BANNER 

truce  and  badge  of  friendship  which  the  faithless  moun- 
taineer always  respects — he  not  only  would  cross  the  Atlas 
in  safety,  but  he  was  sure  of  a  welcome.  The  andia 
conferred  upon  his  person  all  the  privileges  of  an  adopted 
son,  and  the  mezrag — literally  lance — was  an  assurance 
that  influential  residents  would,  if  need  be,  make  his 
quarrels  their  own.  His  friends  would  be  as  safe  as  him- 
self. In  the  great  hiding-place  that  lay  on  the  other  side 
of  the  Anti- Atlas,  travel  would  be  easier  if  not  equally  safe. 
Sidi-Malik  knew  every  ksar  of  the  "Country  of  Fear," 
every  bordj  and  every  watering-place.  A  rapid  dash 
across  the  vast  expanse  might  lead  the  party  to  Algeria 
before  Abd-er-Rhaman  was  himself  ready  to  cross  the 
border. 

Leyton  agreed  to  the  plan  with  a  sigh.  It  was  not  that 
he  disliked  the  idea  of  the  adventure,  but  the  health  of  his 
cousin  gave  him  some  concern.  A  reaction  had  followed 
the  mental  strain  of  the  previous  day,  and  the  young  woman 
was  in  a  state  of  complete  collapse.  After  Sidi-Malik's 
timely  interference,  she  had  sobbed  for  hours,  gradually 
sinking  into  a  state  of  prostration  more  alarming  still  than 
the  hysterical  spell  that  had  preceded  it.  She  was  not  ailing 
in  the  strict  sense  of  the  term;  but  the  shock  of  her  father's 
death,  and  the  general  catastrophe  seemed  to  have 
drained  her  vitality.  In  her  present  condition  of  apathy 
she  was  so  inactive  and  indifferent  that  she  appeared  to 
be  laboring  under  the  influence  of  some  powerful  narcotic. 
The  painter  wondered  what  he  was  to  do  with  a  sick 
woman,  threatened,  perhaps,  with  some  dreaded  brain 
trouble,  when  no  doctor  and  no  medicines  were  available, 
when  it  was  not  even  possible  to  stop. 


IN  THE  WILDS  OF  THE  ADRAR        91 

Travelling  on  camel's  back,  on  the  cushions  of  a  bassour, 
is  at  best  uncomfortable,  even  for  native  women  used  to 
the  hot  and  stuffy  confinement  of  the  tent.  No  breath  of 
fresh  air  penetrates  through  the  thick  curtains  of  the 
clumsy  palanquin.  The  space  is  inadequate  for  all  who 
cannot  bear  to  sit  for  hours  in  native  fashion,  cross-legged 
and  with  no  change  of  posture.  To  this  must  be  joined  the 
rancid  smell  of  heated  wool  and  the  nauseating  scent  of 
musk  exhaled  by  the  camel.  Lice  and  fleas  are  sure  to 
make  every  nook  and  corner  of  the  bassour  the  theatre  of 
their  frolics;  and  the  exasperating  rolling  motion  of  the 
camel  comes  to  add  to  this  already  long  list  the  culminating 
horror  of  sea-sickness.  Perfumes  can,  of  course,  be  used. 
They  are  freely  resorted  to  by  the  natives.  But,  with  the 
scents  that  are  available — French  and  American  chemical 
concoctions  dubbed  rose-water,  amber,  benjoin  and 
jessamine  by  a  nomadic  race  that  has  long  since  lost  the 
memory  of  fragrant  Arabia  Felix — it  is  by  no  means  certain 
that  the  preventive  is  not  worse  than  the  evil. 

Leyton  had  good  reasons  for  sighing,  then,  when  thinking 
that  if  Mogador  had  not  been  an  unattainable  goal, 
Gisele  would  have,  on  their  way  to  Southampton,  Cardiff 
or  Liverpool,  enjoyed  the  benefit  of  sea-breezes  loaded 
with  invigorating  marine  fragrance.  Instead  of  that  they 
would  cross  the  desert.  April  was  not  yet  the  season  for 
hardships.  But  it  would  take  six  weeks  to  cover  the 
eleven  hundred  miles  intervening  between  Marakesh  and 
Colomb-Bechar,  and  in  less  than  six  weeks  the  Sahara 
would  become  a  furnace.  Still  d'Ornano  represented  to 
him  that  the  ordeal  would  be  of  short  duration.  The 
summer  heats  would  have  just  begun  at  the  time  they 


92  IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

would  cross  the  Algerine  border.  If  they  could  only 
cover  forty  miles  a  day  and  had  to  make  a  stop  twice  a  week, 
they  would  not  only  reach  civilization  without  having  to 
tax  unduly  the  endurance  of  the  women,  but  they  would 
even  be  able  to  afford  a  halt  in  the  high  valleys  of  the 
kingdom  of  Sus. 

They  set  out  on  their  journey  two  hours  before  sunrise. 
These  two  hours  of  night  travel,  ordinarily  the  most  enjoy- 
able of  the  twenty-four,  were  little  relished  by  Leyton,  who, 
half  asleep  in  his  saddle,  rode  alongside  Sidi-Malik.  He 
was  weary  in  mind  and  body.  Gisele  had  kept  him  at  her 
side  until  midnight,  and  he  had  spent  the  three  hours  that 
preceded  their  departure  in  the  conference  with  d'Ornano 
and  the  camel-driver.  After  the  prolonged  confinement  of 
his  convalescence  he  felt  the  unusual  exertion  severely. 
The  freshness  of  the  morning,  however,  acted  on  him 
somewhat  as  a  bath,  and  when  the  sun  rose  he  had  regained 
enough  of  his  spirits  to  make  mental  note  of  the  rapid 
changes  in  tonality  on  the  objects  that  met  his  sight. 

With  its  five  camels  and  seven  horses,  their  caravan 
looked  quite  imposing.  Mounted  on  one  of  the  two 
mehara  he  had  stolen  in  Sidi-Malik's  company,  the  night 
of  Abd-er-Rhaman's  kidnapping,  Anoun-Dialo,  too  heavy 
to  ride  a  horse,  came  first,  showing  the  way  to  the  pack- 
camels.  Gisele  and  Djeilma  were  in  the  bassour,  on  the 
second  mehari.  On  horseback,  Sidi-Malik  and  d'Ornano 
were  leading  by  the  bridle  the  steeds  captured  the  previous 
evening. 

The  painter  alone  did  not  share  in  the  division  of  caravan 
labor.  Not  only  did  it  devolve  upon  him  to  attend  to  his 
cousin's  wants,  but  he  was  still  incapacitated  by  his  recent 


IN  THE   WILDS   OF  THE   ADRAR  93 

wound  in  the  shoulder.  Moreover,  the  horses,  wholly 
unused  to  their  new  masters  and  unaccustomed  to  leading, 
were  no  end  of  trouble.  In  the  present  state  of  affairs  they 
were  useless  and  a  nuisance.  The  impossibility  of  taking 
into  the  desert  animals  which  needed  water  twice  a  day 
had  decided  Sidi-Malik  to  exchange  them  for  camels. 
This  he  would  probably  be  able  to  manage  in  Amsmiz  or 
El-Goundafi,  before  entering  the  unsurveyed  and  prac- 
tically unexplored  country  of  Sus. 

Five  hours  after  the  start,  they  reached  the  first  foothills 
and  the  winding  gorge  of  the  Wad-Nans.  Up  to  this  time 
they  had  been  riding  through  a  flat  country,  green  with  the 
new  grass  born  of  the  spring  rains  and  literally  carpeted 
with  wild  flowers.  Anemones,  crocuses,  pimpernels,  musk 
balsam,  cyclamens,  gladiolas,  larkspur,  mignonette,  hya- 
cinths, irises  and  asphodels,  an  infinite  variety  of  lilies,  and 
some  very  small  orchids  in  form  exactly  resembling  wasps 
and  bees,  grew  side  by  side  in  patches  succeeding  to  areas 
covered  with  palmettos,  thapsias  and  cacti.  Aloes  were  to 
be  met  on  every  hand;  but  trees  were  scarce.  An  occa- 
sional argan  and  caroob  tree,  sometimes  large  enough  to 
shelter  from  the  sun-rays  a  whole  caravan,  arose  at  long 
intervals.  Only  once  they  saw  an  olive  grove  and  twice 
a  fig  orchard.  There  was  not  a  trace  of  cultivation.  The 
space  intervening  between  Marakesh's  palm  groves  and 
the  mountains,  where  agricultural  Berber  tribes  cultivate 
rough  farms,  bore  no  evidence  that  man  had  ever  tilled 
the  ground.  There  was  hardly  a  sign  of  his  presence. 
An  occasional  kuba,  the  tomb  of  some  saint  or  madman, 
opened  its  door  wide  to  the  traveller  who  had  enough 
ready  cash  to  contribute  his  share  to  the  support  of  the  holy 


94  IN  THE   WAKE  OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

man's  descendants,  but  not  a  house  was  to  be  seen.  It 
was  a  wilderness  of  flowers  alive  with  game.  Partridges, 
quails,  jerboas,  hares,  rabbits,  civet  cats  and  foxes  were 
fleeing  in  every  direction.  Above  a  swamp  whose  still 
waters  were  concealed  by  a  jungle  of  reeds,  they  saw 
swarms  of  starlings.  Herons,  outardes,  egrets,  crested 
larks  and  francolins  were  also  numerous.  Hawks, 
ospreys,  griffon  vultures  and  kites  were  keeping  an  eye  on 
this  under-world,  describing  lazy  circles  above  the  waters 
before  falling,  stone-like,  on  the  prey  of  their  election. 
Leyton  went  forth  after  game  at  a  mad  gallop.  He  had 
many  things  to  forget,  and  he  found  physical  exertion  a 
good  remedy  for  painful  thoughts.  He  succeeded  so  well 
in  driving  away  morbid  fancies  that  the  caravan  halted 
without  his  becoming  aware  of  it,  and  the  camel-driver  had 
to  run  in  pursuit  to  tell  him  that  it  was  past  ten  o'clock. 

It  had  been  agreed  that  they  would  travel  from  four  to 
ten  A.  m.  and  from  two  p.  m.  to  sunset;  the  mid-day  pause 
being  so  arranged  that  they  could  avail  themselves  of  the 
shade  met  along  running  streams.  The  first  stop  was 
made  on  the  banks  of  the  swift  and  shallow  Wad-Nafiz, 
under  tall  poplars  that  closely  resembled  cottonwoods. 
Leyton  judged  that  there  should  be  good  fishing  there. 
Unfortunately,  he  had  neither  net  nor  rod.  Fishing  by 
hand  was,  of  course,  out  of  the  question;  the  pools  were  so 
deep  that  he  would  have  to  take  a  complete  bath.  As 
cherry-laurels,  so  poisonous  that  natives  will  avoid  even 
sleeping  in  their  shade,  had  their  roots  in  the  water,  he 
desisted  with  a  sigh  of  regret  from  the  dangerous  under- 
taking. 

He  went  back  to  camp.     His  companions  were  having 


IN  THE   WILDS   OF  THE   ADRAR  95 

their  troubles  with  the  camels  which  obstinately  refused 
to  kneel.  To  his  surprise  he  found  Gisele,  not  only  awake, 
but  feeling  so  much  better  that,  at  Djei'lma's  solicitation, 
she  had  exchanged  her  European  garments  for  the  native 
garb.  Some  change  of  this  sort  had  become  imperative. 
They  were  now  in  the  Jibali  country,  at  the  extreme  border 
of  the  Bled-el-Maghzen  or  Territory  of  Government,  and 
the  independant  Berbers  who  dwelt  beyond,  men  of  the 
mountainous  Bled-es-Sibla,  were  so  distrustful  of  travellers 
that  their  valleys  were  known  to  the  Arabs  as  the  "  Country 
of  the  Gun." 

A  little  before  two  o'clock  they  resumed  their  march. 
The  landscape  was  fast  changing.  The  track  lay  among 
the  shingle  of  the  river-bed,  now  on  one  side,  now  on  the 
other;  and  they  had  to  cross  at  every  turn.  Seemingly 
they  were  heading  straight  for  the  Djebel  Tagharat — 
"The  Lord  of  the  Peaks" — that  loomed  in  front,  bright 
with  sunlit  snow,  to  an  elevation  of  fifteen  thousand  feet. 
But  before  sunset,  they  turned  their  backs  to  the  moun- 
tain and  for  a  while  went  due  west. 

In  the  bassour,  Gisele  and  Djei'lma  were  making  each 
other's  acquaintance.  The  Circassian  had  presented  her 
companion  with  sweets  and  a  pair  of  babooshes.  She  was 
now  exhibiting  her  jewels  and  her  garments.  Her  outspoken 
curiosity  somewhat  disconcerted  the  French  girl,  little  used 
to  the  direct  frankness  of  natives.  The  school  Djei'lma  had 
attended  in  Tripoli  was  evidently  not  meant  to  inculcate 
principles  of  housekeeping  to  an  English  prude.  Taught 
to  rule  by  the  display  of  whims,  childishness  and  tigerish 
anger,  she  was  certainly  an  enchantress,  and  when  listen- 
ing to  her  chatter,  Gisele  was  more  than  once  reminded  of 


96  IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

Circe  and  of  the  metamorphoses  she  worked  on  hapless 
navigators. 

Night  overtook  them  on  the  hillside,  as  they  were  reach- 
ing the  agricultural  belt  of  fig,  walnut,  almond  and  olive 
groves.  Square  adobe  houses  had  appeared,  and  a 
Jibali — hillman — was  seen  from  time  to  time  astride  his 
donkey,  surly  and  silent,  his  many  knives  always  in  evi- 
dence, and  as  hard-faced  as  the  porphyries,  flints  and  dio- 
rites  of  his  native  valley.  But  the  traces  of  cultivation  were 
becoming  more  numerous.  Wherever  the  valley  widened, 
the  waters  of  the  stream  were  diverted  to  irrigate  cultivated 
terraces,  a  few  feet  wide,  where  beans,  tomatoes  and 
turnips  were  grown  in  profusion. 

Shortly  before  sunset,  Leyton  witnessed  a  sight  that  made 
a  deep  impression  on  his  mind.  It  was  not  so  much  that 
the  color  in  it  appealed  to  the  painter  in  him,  but  it  held 
all  the  dark  soul  of  old  Moghrib.  Typical  of  a  race  with- 
out nerves,  a  race  unconsciously  cruel  because  not  provided 
with  the  complicated  machinery  which,  with  the  Caucasian, 
transmits  sensation  to  the  brain,  a  Jibali  was  riding.  The 
donkey  was  furry  and  small,  so  small  that  the  man's  feet 
touched  the  ground.  The  grade  was  steep,  yet  the  rider 
kept  on,  pricking  the  poor  beast  with  his  knife,  all  the  while 
playing  with  his  beads  and  following  the  flight  of  his  far- 
away dream,  his  eternal  dream  of  plunder  and  conquest 
towards  distant  horizons.  Behind,  a  woman  came  on  foot, 
worn  out,  with  a  child  on  her  back.  Another  child,  a  little 
girl,  lagged  at  the  end  of  her  mother's  hai'k  and  looked 
sleepy  from  exhaustion.  The  scene  was  typical  of  a 
patriarchal  age.  This  man  astride  on  his  burro  was  not 
the  provider — the  wife  did  all  the  work  and  was  treated  a 


IN  THE  WILDS  OF  THE  ADRAR        97 

little  worse  than  the  donkey  or  the  goat.  He  was,  and  that 
forcefully,  the  protector  who  did  the  fighting  when  need 
arose.     As  such  he  felt  entitled  to  all  the  comforts. 

The  precipitous  ravine  on  the  brink  of  which  the  path 
climbed,  the  brooms,  lentiscs,  arbutus  and  thuya  trees 
twisted  by  the  raging  wind  that  blew  through  the  whole 
length  of  the  gorge,  the  kubas  sheltered  among  fig  trees 
that  turned  blue  in  the  radiance  of  dusk  were  things  of 
the  Adrar  not  to  be  met  anywhere  else.  The  gigantic 
umbrella  pines  opened,  between  the  columns  of  their 
copper-colored  shafts,  the  brown  of  the  earth  and  the  bright 
green  of  the  tree  tops,  wonderful  vistas  on  the  village 
studded  vales  that  led  sparkling  streams  to  the  plain  of 
Marakesh.  As  the  path  became  steeper  and  more  difficult, 
the  palmettos  became  also  scarcer,  the  walnut  forest  taking 
their  place.  The  keen  breeze  was  now  loaded  with  the 
fragrance  of  resin,  thyme  and  sage.  A  vaster  expanse  of 
plain  stretched  itself  to  the  north.  At  sunset  they  saw  the 
Tensift  reflect,  on  twenty  miles  of  circuitous  stream,  the 
gold  of  the  western  sky. 

They  entered  El-Goundafi  late  the  next  day,  having  left 
Amsmiz  on  their  right.  The  report  had  reached  Sidi- 
Malik  that  a  caravan  coming  from  Mader-Sultan  was  on  its 
way  to  Marakesh,  and  he  wanted  to  reach  El-Goundafi  in 
time  to  barter  his  horses  for  camels.  This  second  day  of 
travelling  proved  much  more  difficult  than  the  first.  The 
gorge  of  the  Wad-Nafiz  was  narrowing,  and  the  path,  in 
some  places  less  than  two  feet  wide,  looked  down  into  dizzy 
ravines.  It  had  become  impossible  to  lead  the  horses  by 
the  rope  as  formerly.  However,  the  intelligent  animals 
had  not  only  ceased  their  prancing,  but  they  followed  of 


98    IN  THE  WAKE  OF  THE  GREEN  BANNER 

their  own  free  will,  testing  their  footing  with  greater 
sagacity  than  human  beings  themselves.  The  camels  were 
a  source  of  greater  worry.  The  sharp  flint  stones  were  a 
constant  danger  to  their  large,  flat  and  comparatively  tender 
soles,  and  they  evinced  little  capacity  and  less  desire  for 
self-preservation.  In  the  bassour,  Gisele  and  Djeilma 
were  passing  through  all  the  stages  of  anguish  and  despair, 
travelling  "liver  in  the  mouth,"  as  Sidi-Malik  expressed  it. 
The  slopes  above  them  were  utterly  barren.  It  was  only 
beyond  El-Goundafi  that  they  were  to  meet  with  the 
forests  of  Aleppo  pines,  cedars  and  sweet-scented  firs. 

In  El-Goundafi  they  spent  the  whole  of  the  next  day. 
This  place  of  no  importance  loomed  large  in  the  eyes  of 
the  painter,  who  knew  that  almost  unknown  territory  lay 
beyond.  The  village  possessed  a  fondouk  for  caravans,  a 
market-place  and  a  grim  citadel.  The  rest  was  a  mere 
agglomeration  of  mud  houses  with  projecting  roofs  of 
branches.  Notwithstanding  that  the  other  caravan  had 
reached  the  halt  before  them,  they  were  lucky  enough  to 
secure  three  cells  in  the  fondouk.  Sidi-Malik  found  easily 
what  he  wanted.  He  offered  his  horses  for  three  camels  of 
good  Filali  breed,  concluding  the  deal  after  five  hours  of 
fierce  bargaining. 

Early  in  the  evening  the  court-yard  of  the  old  mountain 
bordj  became  the  theatre  of  a  strange  performance. 
Aissaoua,  who  had  undertaken  the  yearly  pilgrimage 
known  as  the  "stampede,"  reached  El-Goundafi  on  their 
way  to  Meknes,  where  they  were  to  visit  the  tomb  of  their 
prophet  Aissa.  Banners  flying,  they  entered  the  fondouk 
just  as  Ley  ton  and  d'Ornano  were  finishing  their  meal. 

The  two  men  went  down  into  the  court-yard.  Smoking 


IN  THE  WILDS  OF  THE  ADRAR        99 

torches  and  fires  of  camel  dung  threw  blotches  of  red  light 
upon  the  brown  bodies  of  the  hasheesh-drunk  fakirs. 
They  were  all  but  naked,  a  white  sash  around  the  loins 
constituting  their  only  garb.  As  everything  in  the  first 
plane  was  a  contrast  between  high  lights  and  dark  shadows, 
their  emaciated  anatomies  showed  with  painful  distinctness 
— the  shaven  skulls,  the  hollow  orbits  filled  with  the  wild 
look  of  the  dreamer  awaking  from  a  nightmare,  the  jutting- 
out  ribs  and  convulsed  abdomens  forcefully  reminding  the 
painter  of  the  saints  and  martyrs  of  the  Spanish  school. 
Their  attitudes  were  those  of  frenzied  people  in  the  throes 
of  hysteria.  They  were  dancing,  devil-like,  with  distorted 
gestures,  open  mouths  and  upturned  eyes  in  the  midst  of  a 
circle  of  cheering  spectators. 

The  dance  ended,  they  gave  a  disgusting  exhibition. 
Some  of  them  stepped  on  live  coals  and  remained  motion- 
less while  their  frizzling  flesh  tainted  the  ambient  with  an 
abominable  stench.  Others  ran  long  needles  through 
their  jaws,  puncturing  themselves  from  cheek  to  cheek. 
Others  were  furnishing  the  proof  that  long  handling  had 
conferred  upon  them  total  immunity  against  scorpion 
stings  and  snake  bites.  But  the  spectacle  became  alto- 
gether unbearable  when  a  ram  was  brought  them  by  the 
orders  of  Khaid  El-Goundafi,  the  feudal  lord  of  this 
valley.  In  a  twinkling,  nothing  remained  of  the  offering. 
They  had  torn  the  animal  to  pieces  while  still  alive,  and 
swallowed  it,  wool,  flesh  and  viscera.  All  that  was  left 
were  the  hoofs,  horns  and  bones,  which  they  threw  in  the 
pool  of  blood  that  lay  on  the  ground. 

Caught  in  the  whirl  of  religious  passion,  the  white 
figures  in  the  audience  were  firing  into  the  crowd,  unmind- 


100        IN  THE   WAKE   OF   THE   GREEN  BANNER 

ful  of  the  children,  as  bare  and  graceful  as  little  fauns,  who 
were  lying  flat  on  the  pavement  at  the  feet  of  the  perform- 
ers. Kneeling  camels  occupied  one  corner  of  the  picture. 
The  mud  wall  back  of  the  court  had  crumbled  into  heaps 
of  indescribable  material,  so  that  a  vista  was  opened  into 
the  distance  beyond.  Outside,  far  from  the  red  glare  of 
the  torches,  it  was  night,  the  fearful  night  of  the  highlands, 
an  unfathomable  perspective  of  rocks  lying  awake,  intent, 
listening  to  all  the  whispers  of  silence,  under  a  sky  of 
enormous  depth  sprinkled  with  twinkling  stars. 

The  next  day  they  made  an  early  start.  They  were 
bound  for  the  Djebel-Wishdan  pass,  and  the  steep  ascent 
would,  in  Sidi-Malik's  estimation,  prove  the  most  trying 
part  of  their  journey.  Rocks  upon  rocks  were  piled  above. 
They  soon  left  the  walnut  region  to  enter  the  belt  of 
prickly  oak,  cork  oak,  lentisc,  caper  bush  and  arbutus, 
finally  leaving  behind  the  juniper,  the  araar  and  the  broom, 
to  face  the  snow-streaked  peaks,  gleaming  with  sparkling 
sunlight  and  running  water,  the  steep  slopes  of  shining 
diorite  where  nothing  grew  but  tufts  of  driss  and  halfa, 
and  the  torrent  beds  enlivened  with  occasional  thickets  of 
dwarf  cedars.  After  two  narrow  escapes  from  a  fall  into 
the  bewildering  abyss  below,  they  reached  the  pass  at  nine 
o'clock.  The  headwaters  of  the  Tensift  were  now  behind 
them.  In  front,  towards  the  west  and  south,  lay  the 
kingdom  of  Sus.  They  were  in  the  very  heart  of  the 
Adrar. 

Although  the  descent  was  so  steep  and  dangerous  that 
nobody  was  able  to  see  that  conditions  had  improved, 
Sidi-Malik,  who  was  now  at  home,  declared  that  on  this 
side  of  the  Wishdan  the  country  was  much  better.     They 


IN  THE   WILDS   OF  THE    ADRAR  101 

had  left  a  gorge  to  enter  a  canyon.  The  noon  hour  was 
the  hour  of  effects  and  the  late  afternoon  did  little  for  this 
chasm.  Shortly  before  sunset  its  aspect  became  phantas- 
mal. Dull  blues  and  neutral  gray  tones,  so  vaporous  that  a 
fog  seemed  to  issue  from  the  roaring  waters,  filled  it  from 
bottom  to  rim.  This  rift  in  the  earth's  crust  spoke  of  the 
age  of  the  planet  and  of  the  slow  formation  of  the  moun- 
tains. They  left  it  just  as  the  last  gleams  of  sunlight  were 
dying  along  the  slopes  and  entered  a  gorge  that  was 
broader,  a  sort  of  encased  valley  planted  with  very  tall 
cedars.  The  forms  of  the  trees  were  the  wildest  and  most 
wonderful  Ley  ton  had  yet  seen;  grim,  ghastly  limbs,  such 
as  Gustave  Dore*  drew  to  illustrate  Dante's  "Inferno," 
frantically  threatening  a  pale  sky. 

It  was  nearly  dark.  Before  the  four  men  had  time  to 
unload  the  camels,  to  fetch  water,  to  gather  wood  and  erect 
the  tents,  complete  obscurity  overtook  them.  The  stillness 
was  overwhelming.  While  Ley  ton  and  d'Ornano  were 
building  a  camp-fire,  Sidi-Malik  and  his  servant  were 
driving  stakes  close  to  the  flame  and  tying  solidly  the  ani- 
mals. They  had  not  yet  completed  their  task  when  they 
were  startled  by  the  roar  of  a  panther  or  a  leopard. 

D'Ornano  took  the  first  watch,  Anoun-Dialo  the  second. 
The  painter  was  awakened  some  time  before  one  o'clock 
by  the  Sudanese  who  put  a  rifle  in  his  hands  and  gave  him 
cartridges.  A  big  moon,  nearly  full,  was  hanging  as  a 
lamp  behind  the  branches  of  a  sanobar.  Lighted  to  its 
bottom,  the  ravine  had  increased  in  weirdness.  It  was 
chaotic.  Enormous  trees  grew  between  the  porphyry 
boulders;  a  thick  growth  of  reeds  guarded  the  approaches 
of  the  stream.     Lighting  a  cigarette   to  shake  off  his 


102        IN  THE   WAKE  OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

feeling  of  chilliness  and  banish  sleep,  Leyton  kept  gazing 
at  the  moonlit  face  of  the  cliff  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
torrent,  his  thoughts  turning  to  the  description  given  by 
Flaubert  of  the  last  hours  of  the  Mercenaries,  in  Salammbo; 
the  Gauls  slowly  dying  of  hunger  and  thirst  under  the  ar- 
rows sped  from  the  slopes  by  Numidians  and  Balearians. 
But  even  this  did  not  give  an  adequate  conception  of  the 
scene.  The  visionary  Edgar  Allan  Poe  alone  had  seen 
this  pile  of  rocks. 

"  Mine  eyes  fell  upon  a  huge  gray  rock  which  stood  by 
the  shore  of  the  river  and  was  lighted  by  the  light  of  the 
moon.  And  the  rock  was  gray,  and  ghastly  and  tall — and 
the  rock  was  gray.  Upon  its  front  were  characters  en- 
graved in  the  stone;  and  I  walked  through  the  morass  of 
water-lilies,  until  I  came  close  unto  the  shore — and  the 
characters  were  "  Desolation." 

He  suddenly  became  aware  that  something  had  moved 
not  far  from  the  tent.  From  the  trees  came  a  screeching 
and  gibbering  which  he  could  not  refer  to  any  animal  he 
knew.  He  noticed  also  that  the  fire  was  flickering  and  that 
the  frightened  camels,  with  mad  eyes  and  dilated  nostrils, 
were  pulling  on  their  stakes.  In  front  of  him,  among  the 
branches  of  the  nearest  tree,  two  feet  away  from  the 
moon,  he  saw  lighted  carbuncles.  Reaching  for  his  rifle, 
he  took  a  quick  shot.  The  thing  to  which  the  eyes  belonged 
came  down  with  a  thump  and  a  roar,  beating  the  bush 
with  its  four  paws.  The  strange  screeching  subsided  as 
soon  as  death  had  done  its  work.  It  was  followed  by  the 
disconcerting  mirth  of  the  hyena  and  the  enraged  yelping 
of  disappointed  jackals. 

The  cause  of  so  much  alarm  and  disorder  proved  to  be 


IN   THE    WILDS   OF  THE    ADRAR  103 

a  panther.  Anoun-Dialo  went  after  the  carcass.  Leyton 
took  a  look  at  it  and  spoke  to  Sidi-Malik  of  the  screeching 
he  had  heard.  The  camel-driver  merely  laughed  and  told 
him  that  there  were  monkeys  in  this  valley;  the  same  species 
of  tailless  apes  found  also  in  the  gorges  of  Chiffa  and  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Djebel-Musa,  near  Gibraltar,  being 
frequently  encountered  in  the  highlands  of  Sus. 

They  saw  them  at  sunrise,  gambolling  and  combing  their 
whiskers  in  the  high  branches  of  the  sanobars.  They 
were  terribly  human  in  grouping  and  attitudes.  They 
appeared  still  more  so  when  they  went  to  the  water  in  a 
body,  and  the  patriarchs  of  the  tribe  were  seen  to  pull  the 
hair  of  the  youngsters  who  scampered  in  the  underbrush 
to  pick  and  eat  forbidden  fruit. 

That  morning,  for  the  first  time,  Leyton  tried  his  hand 
at  loading  the  camels.  This  he  found  a  disagreeable 
operation.  The  djemel  is  not  only  the  most  discontented 
of  all  beasts,  but  he  is  an  inveterate  biter,  proving  so  danger- 
ous in  this  respect  that  a  spear  has  often  to  be  used  by  his 
sokhar.  Ten  pounds  more  than  his  load  and  the  surly 
brute  refuses  to  rise,  bleating  for  mercy  until  the  extra 
weight  has  been  removed.  He  has  other  shortcomings. 
After  he  has  bitten  and  grunted  for  a  lifetime,  he  usually 
overdrinks  and  dies  in  the  dust  when  the  life  of  all  depends 
upon  him. 

At  nine  o'clock  they  had  reached  a  stretch  of  country 
that  forcibly  reminded  Gisele  and  d'Ornano  of  the  Djurdj- 
ura  Mountains,  beyond  Algiers.  They  had  long  since  left 
the  land  of  the  Jibala  to  enter  that  of  the  Shellaha  or 
mountaineers.  Rugged,  chaotic  and  steep  in  the  extreme, 
the  mountains  they  were  now  crossing  were  often  barren, 


104        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

sometimes  covered  with  sweet-scented  sanobars  of  great 
height,  with  thuyas,  gum-cistus  and  gum-sandaragh  trees. 
They  were  uniformly  sun-baked  and  chronically  devastated 
by  locusts.  The  range  on  the  whole  affords  but  scant 
living,  and  the  Berber  would  often  suffer  if  he  did  not 
possess  his  gun  and  his  spirit.  But  whenever  the  crop  has 
been  too  bad  or  the  locusts  too  numerous,  he  turns  locust 
himself  and  strips  his  neighbor  not  only  of  his  belongings 
but  often  of  his  bread,  coming  back  to  his  native  wilds 
with  spoils  enough  to  last  him  until  the  next  spring. 

As  the  highlander  respects  nobody  but  his  guest,  travel- 
ling in  the  Adrar  is  at  best  a  hazardous  affair.  Jewish 
peddlers  buy  the  right  to  cross  in  peace  the  territory  of  the 
different  tribes.  Other  wayfarers  secure  the  mezrag  or 
covenant,  the  protection  and  friendship  of  some  powerful 
chief  of  family.  Sidi-Malik  knew  how  to  avoid  pitfalls 
and  conciliate  jealousies  between  rival  sheikhs.  The 
proof  that  he  carried  the  mezrag  was  demanded  from  him 
several  times.  In  each  instance  he  not  only  managed  to 
satisfy  the  inquirer,  but  even,  by  making  trifling  presents, 
to  secure  his  personal  good-will. 

They  often  met  with  villages  and  with  strange  castles 
of  stone.  The  architecture  of  these  pirates'  eyries  was 
Phoenician  in  its  origin.  In  the  shadow  of  these  grim 
agadirs  Jewish  artisans  were  held  in  bondage,  branded 
with  the  hot  iron  that  also  served  to  mark  the  cattle  of  their 
masters.  All  around  Berbers  were  living  in  a  state  of 
lawless  independence,  in  perfect  contempt  of  the  Sultan 
and  of  the  French.  Notwithstanding  the  interdiction  of 
the  Koran,  their  children  turned  out  very  pretty  models  of 
baked  clay  representing  Arab  horsemen.     Racial  hatreds 


IN  THE   WILDS  OF  THE   ADRAR  105 

are  long-lived  in  these  mountains.  They  used  these 
images  as  targets  and  pelted  them  with  stones  or  shot  at 
them  with  cries  of  execration. 

If  the  castles  were  true  Phenician  constructions,  the 
houses  of  the  people  were  very  simple  affairs.  The  single 
room  which  the  family  shared  with  domestic  animals  had 
no  windows  and  only  one  door.  Issuing  from  a  fire  burn- 
ing in  the  centre  of  the  habitation,  an  abundance  of  acrid 
smoke  rendered  this  hovel  almost  uninhabitable.  Large 
amphoras  plastered  to  the  wall  contained  the  family 
stores  of  beans  and  oil.  Barley  bread  and  dried  figs  were 
stored  on  a  shelf  in  a  corner. 

Although  most  of  the  natives  bore  the  marks  of  small- 
pox, they  met  with  pretty  little  girls  with  dazzling  teeth 
and  black  eyes.  Leyton,  however,  found  them  somewhat 
thick-lipped,  and  there  was  no  question  that  they  were 
spoiled  by  tattooing.  On  account  of  the  evil  eye  super- 
stition, face-washing  was  almost  unknown.  The  mothers 
were  convinced  that  a  bright  complexion  would  attract 
the  glance,  and  flies,  as  a  consequence,  were  seen  hovering 
in  clouds  all  around  these  youngsters. 

Young  women  took  greater  care  of  their  persons.  Even 
those  who  were  not  pretty  were  graceful.  As,  with  a 
swinging  of  the  hips  that  was  almost  a  dance,  they  slowly 
climbed  the  steep  streets,  they  frequently  personified 
Biblical  figures.  Although  their  garments  were  often 
ragged,  they  all  wore  jewels  of  coral  and  silver.  Seldom 
seen,  except  at  the  time  of  day  it  was  customary  to  go  for 
water,  they  then  proceeded  in  a  body,  without  a  veil,  carry- 
ing on  the  shoulder  brightly  colored  jars  which  they  closed 
with  olive  twigs,  so  as  to  avoid  the  chopping  of  the  water. 


106        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

Gisele  had  begun  to  tire  of  the  heat  of  the  palanquin,  of 
the  sickening  motion  of  the  camel  and  of  Djeilma's  com- 
pany. Feeling  better,  she  asked  to  leave  the  bassour. 
Leyton  took  with  her  the  head  of  the  caravan.  Conver- 
sation was  at  first  difficult.  Obviously  the  young  woman 
had  constantly  before  her  eyes  the  picture  of  General 
de  Diolie  dying  on  the  walls  of  Marakesh.  Still  she  re- 
frained from  voicing  her  thoughts.  She  remarked  on  the 
uncommon  loveliness  of  the  woman  she  mistook  for  the 
camel-driver's  wife.  Djeuma's  behavior  towards  her  was 
somewhat  unusual,  even  rude,  she  thought.  The  Circas- 
sian not  only  declined  to  respond  to  all  attempts  at  friendly 
intercourse,  but  took  all  the  room  to  herself.  Once  she  had 
even  declared  that  she  would  ask  Sidi-Malik  to  buy  another 
bassour  for  the  Christian  woman.  As,  at  first,  she  had 
seemed  well  disposed,  Gisele  could  not  understand  the 
reason  for  such  a  sudden  change  of  front.  She  was  sure 
that,  on  her  side,  she  had  behaved  with  true  Arabic  de- 
corum and  had  been  especially  enthusiastic  in  praising  the 
beauty  and  jewels  of  her  companion.  There  had  been  no 
quarrel,  and  it  was  hardly  possible  that  Djeilma  should 
have  taken  offence  at  the  non-committal  answers  she  had, 
on  two  or  three  occasions,  been  compelled  to  oppose  to 
her  brazen  questioning. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   LIONS   OF  TILIMSA 

That  day  and  the  following  were  uneventful.  Sidi- 
Malik  killed  a  golden  eagle  and  d'Ornano  an  avdad — the 
indigenous  wild  ram.  Leaving  Amsug,  they  had  begun 
to  ascend  again,  and  were  on  the  point  of  entering  the  terri- 
tory of  the  Ait- Jellal.  The  whole  of  that  day  they  travelled 
through  forests  of  cedars.  The  advance  was  difficult  and 
the  country  so  sparsely  settled  that  the  only  people  they 
met  were  two  donkey-riders  who  overtook  them  as  they 
were  pitching  camp  for  the  night. 

These  men  stopped,  asking,  as  usual,  to  see  the  mezrag. 
They  hailed  from  the  immediate  vicinity  of  Illigh.  Sidi- 
Malik,  who  knew  the  sheikh  of  that  village,  bade  the  new- 
comers welcome,  presenting  each  of  them  with  a  pouch  of 
powder.  After  the  meal,  he  proudly  exhibited  the  fleece 
of  the  audad,  the  hide  of  the  panther  and  the  feathers  of  the 
golden  eagle.  The  mountaineers,  themselves  bad  shots, 
like  all  the  people  of  these  parts,  admired  soberly  but  with 
genuine  feeling.  The  audad,  especially,  a  powerful  animal 
so  bold  and  sure-footed  that  the  Berbers,  astounded  by  the 
dives  he  makes  from  dizzy  heights,  believe  that  the  elas- 
ticity of  his  enormous  horns  alone  prevents  him  from 
breaking  his  neck,  is  so  difficult  to  stalk  that  his  capture 

confers  a  lasting  reputation  on  the  fortunate  hunter.     The 

107 


108        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

visitors  left  the  camp  when  the  moon  rose,  and  soon  disap- 
peared among  the  cedars  that  covered  the  slopes  of  the 
Djebel  Asrar. 

News  travels  fast  in  the  Adrar.  At  ten  o'clock  next 
morning,  as  they  had  covered  about  half  of  the  distance 
intervening  between  Amsug  and  Illigh,  they  saw  with 
astonishment  and  no  little  dismay  that  the  pass  below  them 
was  blocked  by  horsemen.  D'Ornano's  first  thought  was 
that  they  were  about  to  be  attacked.  He  spoke  of  his  fears 
to  Sidi-Malik,  but  the  camel-driver  shook  his  head  with  a 
deprecating  gesture.  They  continued  to  advance.  They 
had  barely  gone  a  few  yards,  however,  when  they  were  met 
by  a  volley  of  shots  fired  in  the  air  with  ball  cartridges. 
Then  the  whole  troop  made  a  dash  towards  them  at  full 
speed,  yelling,  throwing  skyward  their  moukalas  and 
catching  them  again  before  they  had  reached  the  ground. 
D'Ornano  was  too  familiar  with  native  ways  to  regard 
with  undue  alarm  what  he  already  had  recognized  for  a 
lab-el-baroda,  but  the  reason  for  the  friendly  display  being 
entirely  unknown,  he  awaited  developments  with  some 
curiosity. 

When  the  horsemen  had  stopped  and  order  had  to  some 
extent  been  restored,  a  man,  who  probably  spoke  in  the 
name  of  the  whole  tribe,  addressed  Sidi-Malik  in  tamazigh. 
He  changed  it  to  Arabic,  however,  as  soon  as  he  was  as- 
sured that  the  others  did  not  understand.  He  and  his 
friends  had  come  to  invite  the  strangers  to  a  lion-hunt. 
It  had  come  to  the  ears  of  the  tribe  that  they  were  good 
marksmen  and  that  their  guns  were  long  enough  to  hit  the 
audad  himself.  His  name  was  Khail-ben-Tarek.  This 
young  man  here  was  Bou-Djemel-el-Aziz — the  father  of 


THE    LIONS   OF   TILIMSA  109 

the  precious  camel — his  own  eighteen-year  old  son.  The 
lions  of  Tilimsa  were  destroying  all  the  cattle  in  the 
neighborhood;  eighteen  sheep,  two  horses  and  one  donkey 
had  been  devoured  in  the  course  of  the  last  month.  Would 
not  Sidi-Malik  and  his  friends  consent  to  help  the  Ait- 
Jellal  rid  their  territory  of  the  big-headed  kebirsf 

Sidi-Malik  embodied  his  acceptance  in  a  long  and 
flowery  speech  full  of  self-gratification.  He  had  speared 
hippopotami,  he  had  killed  elephants  and  done  many  other 
things.  His  brothers-in-law  (d'Ornano  and  Ley  ton  were 
his  brothers-in-law,  and  Leyton,  by  the  way,  was  a  mute) 
were  also  mighty  hunters,  who  would  be  glad  to  see  the 
lions  of  Tilimsa.  He  explained  afterwards  to  his  com- 
panions that  not  only  the  carrier  of  the  mezrag  could  not 
shirk  a  duty  of  this  kind,  but  that,  in  making  a  request  for 
help,  the  tribe  did  them  honor. 

Under  escort  of  a  whole  goum,  they  proceeded  to  the 
next  village.  A  lamb  roasted  whole  and  steaming  couscouss 
of  semolina,  raisins  and  stewed  chicken  was  served  them 
as  they  dismounted.  The  meal  over,  Sidi-Malik  put 
Anoun-Dialo  formally  in  charge  of  the  caravan.  The 
women  were  invited  to  strike  acquaintance  with  the  female 
folks  of  Khai'1-ben-Tarek,  and  the  three  hunters  followed 
their  new  friends. 

They  were  gone  forty-eight  hours.  Left  to  herself, 
Gisele  sought  to  beguile  isolation  by  beginning  a  relation 
of  the  events  that  had  thus  far  marked  their  voyage. 
Leyton  had  strongly  urged  her  to  undertake  the  writing 
of  a  diary.  Aware  of  the  existence  of  a  literary  streak  in 
his  cousin — he  often  called  it  a  kink  and  affected  to  believe 
that  it  was  the  Latin  inheritance,  the  French  yeast  in  her 


110        IN  THE   WAKE    OF  THE    GREEN   BANNER 

nature — the  painter  had  hoped  that  the  task  would  help  her 
regain  the  mental  equilibrium  the  late  events  had  destroyed. 
After  the  meal,  he  had  gone  to  borrow  d'Ornano's  fountain 
pen,  and  had  suggested  that  she  seek  in  the  bassour  the 
quiet  and  seclusion  she  needed  to  put  her  thoughts  in  order. 

The  fountain  pen  had  considerably  puzzled  Djeilma, 
who,  for  the  first  time  in  three  days,  had  joined  her  com- 
panion for  a  bit  of  gossip.  The  cordiality  had  not,  how- 
ever, outlived  Gisele's  refusal  to  part  with  "  the  pen  that 
wrote  without  ink."  The  Circassian  was  now  at  the  well, 
unveiled,  surrounded  by  young  fellows  in  fine  clothes,  in 
deep  conversation  with  Khail-ben-Tarek's  younger  son. 
It  had  not  taken  Gisele  until  now  to  discover  that  her 
companion  was  as  inveterate  a  flirt  as  she  was  handsome, 
childish  and  spiteful.  She  could  not  help  smiling  at  the 
thought  of  the  castigation  that  would  take  place  should 
Sidi-Malik  come  back  unheralded  and  find  his  captive 
in  this  gay  company  of  heart-breakers. 

For  the  last  three  days  she  had  been  acquainted  with 
the  motives  that  had  prompted  Djeilma's  sudden  change 
of  behavior.  In  Amsug,  Sidi-Malik  had  bought  a  second 
palanquin.  Since  then  she  had  noticed  that  whenever 
Leyton  was  riding  back  of  the  caravan,  the  Circassian, 
with  veil  removed,  opened  wide  the  curtains  of  her  bassour. 
The  painter  had  not  yet  understood.  It  could  never  occur 
to  a  man  of  his  habits  and  training  that,  without  a  word 
having  been  spoken  or  a  gesture  exchanged,  a  Moslem 
woman,  bridging  the  gulfs  of  race,  faith  and  language, 
would  fall  in  love  with  his  good  looks.  But  Gisele  had 
greater  knowledge  of  the  natives.  She  was  aware  that 
Sidi-Malik  and  Djeilma  had  begun  to  quarrel  as  soon  as 


THE    LIONS   OF  TILIMSA  111 

the  Circassian  had  discovered  that  the  camel-driver  had 
no  present  intention  of  going  to  Tripoli.  She  also  knew 
how  frequently  it  comes  true  that  "the  woman  who  sees 
the  guest  has  no  further  use  for  a  husband."  Fully  con- 
scious that  Leyton's  affections  were  engaged  elsewhere,  she 
awaited  developments  with  some  curiosity. 

She  had  also  begun  to  puzzle  over  d'Ornano's  behav- 
ior. Seldom  leaving  the  company  of  Anoun-Dialo  and 
Sidi-Malik,  the  Corsican  seemed  to  make  it  a  point  to 
hold  aloof.  It  was  indeed  possible  that,  with  true  Corsi- 
can vindictiveness,  he  was  unable  to  forgive  her  the  resist- 
ance she  had  opposed  when  it  had  become  necessary  to 
lead  her  away  from  Marakesh.  Leyton  had  told  her  that 
he  seldom  spoke,  and  that  only  when  he  had  an  order 
to  give  or  a  question  to  answer.  Spoiled  by  Leyton's 
responsiveness,  she  resented  this  uncompromising  attitude 
to  the  point  of  setting  it  down  to  lack  of  breeding. 

Still,  when  she  was  alone  with  the  sad  memories  of  a 
recent  past,  she  brought  greater  fairness  to  the  study  of  the 
inconsistencies  she  detected  in  a  man  who  had  been  such  a 
favorite  with  her  father.  She  had  long  been  aware  that 
d'Ornano  was  uneasy  in  the  presence  of  the  sex  he  affected 
to  despise.  He  was  conscious,  no  doubt,  that  constitutional 
weaknesses  and  ancestral  failings  left  him  open  to  ridicule. 
Contempt  being  the  only  weapon  he  could  decently  handle 
against  women,  his  answer  to  their  taunts  was  that  of 
simple  acts,  simple  to  the  point  of  being  disconcerting. 

She  had  begun  to  wonder  whether  the  man  was  not 
really  timid.  Timidity  and  brutality  are  so  blended  in 
some  natures  that  it  may  almost  be  said  that  the  second 
is  the  natural  outcome  of  the  first.     Men  who  prefer  to 


112   IN  THE  WAKE  OF  THE  GREEN  BANNER 

storm  a  woman's  heart  a  la  hussarde,  will,  nine  times  out  of 
ten,  be  found  to  possess  strong  qualities  of  action  and  very 
little  small-talk.  It  was  a  question  whether  d'Ornano, 
who  could  not  tolerate  that  the  wit  of  others  should  be 
directed  against  himself,  would  not  have  proven  much 
easier  to  manage  if,  in  the  beginning,  he  had  not  been 
caught  between  a  superior  who  affected  to  make  light  of 
his  ideas  and  a  girl  who  took  pleasure  in  deriding  his 
achievements  as  a  soldier. 

The  service  he  had  rendered  Leyton  and  herself  deserved 
perhaps  more  than  she  had  offered.  In  the  hours  of  her 
deepest  sorrow,  she  inwardly  promised  herself  to  make  up 
with  the  Corsican,  if  only  for  the  sake  of  the  friendship 
that  had  linked  him  to  her  dead  father.  Until  now,  she 
had  been  restrained  by  the  ever-present  feeling  that 
d'Ornano  despised  her  for  being  only  a  woman. 

Perhaps  another  consideration  restrained  her  from  tak- 
ing the  first  step.  She  obscurely  felt  that  the  Corsican 
mistook  for  a  love-affair  the  harmless  flirtation  she  had, 
for  a  month  previous  to  her  father's  death,  carried  on 
with  the  painter.  For  a  man  who  possessed  his  sense 
of  ownership,  a  conviction  of  this  kind  could  lead  only 
to  total  non-interference.  She  knew  that  if  she  wanted 
him  to  act  like  a  human  being  and  not  like  a  bear, 
she  must  begin  by  making  it  clear  that  Leyton  had  no 
right  whatever  to  claim  her  undivided  attention.  This, 
however,  was  more  difficult  to  accomplish  than  to  plan. 
When  the  painter  was  sick  from  the  wound  received  in  the 
Kutubia's  undertaking,  she  had  enjoyed  as  much  as 
he  had  done  the  entente  cordiale  established  between 
them.     She  was  aware  that   the  nurse's   fingers   deftly 


THE    LIONS   OF  TILIMSA  113 

find  their  way  to  a  man's  heart.  It  was  a  little  late,  perhaps, 
to  send  a  herald  to  proclaim  that  the  lists  of  the  tourney 
were  still  open  to  all  comers. 

The  hunters  came  back.  From  a  sporting  point  of 
view,  the  battue  had  been  a  total  failure.  Lions  were  not 
game,  but  merely  foe  to  these  folk.  Khail-ben-Tarek  had 
taken  no  chances  and  the  animals  had  been  smoked  out  of 
their  lairs.  To  prevent  their  escape,  two  troops  of  men, 
one  upstream,  the  other  downstream,  had  been  lined  across 
the  whole  width  of  the  ravine.  On  the  brink  of  the  gorge, 
a  dozen  men  were  constantly  engaged  feeding  the  furnace. 
The  felines  had  begun  to  roar  as  everybody  else  began  to 
cough. 

If  Sidi-Malik  had  not  chosen  to  indulge  his  immoderate 
love  of  parading  at  the  moment  when  the  lioness,  springing 
through  the  flames,  landed  at  the  foot  of  the  wood-pile,  the 
hunt  would  have  been  a  very  tame  affair.  A  shot  from 
Leyton  had  stopped  the  animal.  The  Berber,  who  always 
hunted  on  horseback,  no  sooner  saw  the  feline  in  the  dust 
than  he  started  at  a  gallop  with  the  intention  of  transfixing 
it  with  his  spear.  He  had  hardly  accomplished  his  purpose 
when  the  lion,  jumping  in  his  turn,  took  his  bearings  and 
made  for  the  nearest  foe.  D'Ornano's  bullet  met  the  brute 
as  he  had  sprung  eight  feet  in  the  air. 

It  was  lucky  that  the  animal  had  been  killed  outright. 
As  it  was,  the  fearful  impact  bore  to  the  ground  horse 
and  horseman.  Dazed  by  the  fearful  fall,  crushed  under 
his  horse  and  the  now  motionless  lion,  Sidi-Malik  remained 
unconscious  a  full  minute,  unable  to  realize  what  had 
happened  until  the  Corsican,  catching  hold  of  him  under 
the  armpits,  drew  him  clear  of  the  carcass  and  raised  him 


114        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

to  his  feet.  Then,  absolutely  unnerved,  he  began  to  weep. 
The  yells  of  the  spectators  filled  the  ravine.  Leaving  every 
tree,  every  crevice,  the  hunters  were  now  running  in  his 
direction.  When  he  saw  that  some  of  them,  intoxicated 
by  the  scene  they  had  just  witnessed,  were  fiercely  stabbing 
the  game,  kicking  and  cursing  as  Berbers  are  wont  to  do 
when  the  foe  has  met  his  fate,  he  recovered  his  activity. 
Pushing  his  way  through  the  crowd,  he  reached  the  car- 
casses and  cut  them  open  with  his  flissa. 

"The  kebir's  heart,  Sidi  d'Ornano!"  he  said.  "The 
lioness*  is  my  own/' 

The  lioness  was  Ley  ton's;  but  no  matter.  To  the  artist's 
immeasurable  wonder,  he  accomplished  the  revolting  act 
that  Moghrabis  never  omit  in  such  cases.  This  heart  that 
was  still  warm,  he  ate  raw  in  the  hope  that  the  strength  and 
courage  of  the  big-headed  kebirs  would  forever  remain  his 
own.  D'Ornano  threw  the  disgusting  trophy  away.  An 
old  man  caught  sight  of  it,  fell  down  in  his  hurry  to  pick  it 
up,  succeeded  against  keen  competition  and,  regardless 
of  the  gravel  that  polluted  the  bloody  remains,  ravenously 
devoured  it. 

The  upshot  of  this  adventure  was  that  the  caravan  was 
detained  another  day  by  festivities.  The  Berber  has  few 
good  points;  but  ungratefulness  and  lack  of  hospitable  feel- 
ing are  not  among  his  weaknesses.  There  was  nothing  in 
the  possession  of  these  poor  people  which  they  were  not 
anxious  to  force  upon  the  visitors.  When,  at  last,  they  were 
allowed  to  leave,  an  escort  was  given  them.  Three  miles 
before  they  reached  Illigh,  they  were  met  by  another  troop 
of  horsemen;  and  two  miles  further  an  admiring  crowd  of 
women  and  children  greeted  them  with  shrieks  and  an 


THE   LIONS  OF  TILIMSA  115 

attempt  at  music.  The  sheikh  himself  came  forward  to 
extend  to  them  the  hospitality  of  his  Kasbah.  Sidi-Malik 
accepted,  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  make  the  round  of  his 
relatives  and  friends. 

They  left  Illigh  the  tenth  day  after  their  flight.  Grown 
beyond  recognition,  the  fame  of  their  deeds  had  spread 
abroad.  They  found  another  escort  where  they  left  the 
first,  and  a  third  troop  met  them  further  along,  less  numer- 
ous than  the  former,  but  equally  eager  to  hear  the  tale  of 
Tilimsa's  tragedy.  Sidi-Malik  was  constantly  requested 
to  relate  the  adventure,  and  d'Ornano  experienced  no  little 
trouble  in  trying  to  avoid  similar  speech-making.  For  all 
his  knowledge  of  Arabic,  he  feared  that  slips  of  the  tongue 
would  brand  him  a  Nazarene;  story-telling  in  Moghrib 
going  so  seldom  without  quotations  from  the  Koran  that, 
to  pass  unsuspected,  the  orthodoxy  of  his  faith  would,  he 
knew,  have  to  go  through  the  hardest  of  trials. 

They  had  some  good  sport  the  next  two  days.  Boars 
were  plentiful,  and  some  of  the  men  of  their  escort  were 
experts  in  pig-sticking.  Sidi-Malik  always  referred  to  the 
wild  boar  as  the  military  pig,  to  distinguish  it  from  the 
domestic  or  civilian  pig  he  had  seen  in  Algeria.  The 
boar  having  almost  disappeared  from  the  sister  country, 
and  not  to  be  met  with  except  in  uncolonized  territory 
ruled  by  the  military  authorities,  the  distinction  was  a 
natural  one.  To  Moslems,  as  well  as  to  Jews,  pork  meat 
is  unclean.  As,  before  the  advent  of  the  French  colonists, 
there  had  been  no  hogs  in  Algeria,  language  had  no  word 
for  them. 

But  these  Berbers  of  Southern  Morocco  ate  the  boar. 
Taken  in  its  spirit,  the  Koranic  prohibition  extends  to 


116        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

each  and  every  part  of  the  beast;  but  the  sentence  is  so 
worded  that  there  is  room  for  quibbling.  The  inhabitants 
of  the  Atlas  throw  away  the  bones  and  pray  for  forgive- 
ness. They  hunt  the  animal  on  horseback,  with  lances. 
Leyton  found  the  sport  not  only  exciting,  but  attended 
with  no  little  danger.  He  killed  that  day  one  boar  and 
two  porcupines.  These  were  also  reckoned  as  pigs;  Sidi- 
Malik  very  aptly  describing  them  as  pigs  dressed  in  pen- 
holders. 

They  were  nearing  the  desert.  Vegetation  had  disap- 
peared and  breaths  of  warm  air  warned  them  of  the 
proximity  of  the  sands.  Water  had  already  become  scarce 
and  the  camels  proved  more  surly  than  usual.  The 
ground  was  difficult  and  the  descent  so  steep  at  times  that 
the  loads,  gradually  displaced,  often  caused  the  pack- 
animals  to  balk.  Four  or  five  times  a  day  a  reloading 
became  imperative.  This  was  usually  accomplished  by 
the  men  of  the  escort.  But  it  went  with  such  a  noise  and 
bustle,  such  a  pandemonium  of  contradicting  orders,  that 
Leyton  and  d'Ornano  often  wished  that  Berbers  were  not 
born  with  such  a  propensity  to  assume  unwarranted 
authority  over  their  fellow-men.  A  halt  always  looked  so 
much  like  a  brawl  of  the  murderous  kind  that  Gisele  was 
in  deadly  fear  of  a  shooting  affray.  It  really  came  as 
a  relief  to  the  whole  party  when,  on  the  morning  of 
the  twelfth  day,  they  took  leave  of  their  body-guard 
and  saw  the  path  before  them  free  from  newcomers. 
This  last  stage  of  their  journey  across  the  range  was  also 
to  be  the  shortest.  At  ten  o'clock  a  wonderful  vista  of 
palm  trees  unfolded  itself  before  their  eyes,  and  two  hours 
later  they  reached  the  banks  of  the  Draa  River. 


of  th€ 


UNIVERSITY 

Of  ^    A 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE   OASIS 

All  a-flutter  from  expectancy,  Gisele  was  riding  with 
curtains  open.  The  path  had  until  now  been  winding  its 
way  alongside  the  dry  bed  of  a  torrent,  in  a  gorge  so 
narrow  that  the  eyes,  long  used  to  the  view  of  heated 
boulders  and  craggy  foothills,  were  unprepared  for  the 
sight  of  the  palm  forest  that  now  appeared  across  a  league 
or  so  of  sandy  waste.  This  last  stage  of  the  journey  had 
taken  the  travellers  across  a  wilderness  so  utterly  desolate 
that  human  beings  had  disappeared,  glad  to  relinquish 
the  useless  stretch  of  country  to  scorpions,  horned  vipers, 
chameleons  and  lizards.  The  heat  was  intense.  The 
sight  of  green  palms,  with  its  attendant  promise  of  shade, 
was  so  welcome  after  these  trying  six  hours  of  travel, 
that  Sidi-Malik  and  Anoun-Dialo  burst  into  song. 

The  gorge  had  widened  into  a  broad  opening  which 

permitted  the  view  of  distant  barren  hills — the  last  spurs 

of  the  Anti-Atlas  which  still  lay  between  the  caravan 

and  the  Southern  Hamadan.     The  rolling  ground  of  the 

intervening  bottom-lands  was  covered  by  a  palm  forest  one 

hundred  and  fifty  miles  long  by  twenty  wide,  unequalled 

the  world  over  in  its  dimensions.     The  abrupt  wall  of  the 

wine-colored  Adrar  N'Draren,  now  behind  the  travellers, 

explained  the  fertility  of  this  valley,  where  irrigating  ditches 

117 


118        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE    GREEN   BANNER 

gathered  and  distributed  every  drop  of  water  sun  and  earth 
had  not  been  able  to  drink  higher  up  on  the  slopes.  As 
they  were  getting  nearer  the  palms,  the  faint  fragrance  of 
blossoms  was  also  becoming  stronger.  The  hush  of  noon 
had  fallen.  The  flocks  of  pigeons  had  sought  the  shade. 
They  were  still  following  the  banks  of  a  tributary  of  the 
Draa.  Pools  of  clear  water  were  frequently  met  ever 
since  the  slope  had  become  more  gentle,  and  boulders  had 
disappeared  to  make  room  for  gravel  and  pebbles.  But, 
despite  the  improved  conditions,  vegetation  had  vanished 
altogether. 

The  withdrawal  of  nature's  gifts  was  now  complete,  and 
the  process  had  been  so  gradual  that  not  even  Gisele  had 
experienced  anything  like  a  shock.  However,  the  desert 
was  now  ready  to  give  back  all  that  the  traveller  had  lost, 
and  this  with  startling  suddenness.  Where  nothing  had 
been  but  barren  rocks,  cobalt  sky  and  exquisitely  colored 
sands,  a  wall  of  palm  trees  heaved  into  sight.  Behind  this 
wall  was  a  jungle.  To  the  coloring  of  the  desert  was 
added  water  and  shade,  the  opaque  African  shade  as  cool 
as  water  itself,  and  the  bright  green  of  vegetation.  Men 
reappeared,  and  with  them  important  towns,  rising  from 
the  ground  with  true  barbaric  splendor.  Having  stolen 
the  traveller's  belongings  so  deftly  that  he  was  still  unaware 
of  his  losses,  the  Maker  of  Mirages,  bent  upon  astonishing 
his  guest,  made  restitution  in  a  fit  of  generosity  as  unac- 
countable as  his  sudden  impulses  of  deceptive  treachery 
and  violent  anger.  He  gave  back  in  the  way  of  an  Oriental 
despot  who,  having  taken  a  liking  to  a  prisoner,  not  only 
restores  to  him  all  he  has  lost,  but  adds  gifts  of  his  own, 
gifts  that  are  worthy  of  a  king. 


THE   OASIS  119 

On  the  edge  of  the  oasis  they  crossed  a  graveyard. 
This  necropolis  built  under  the  palms  had  peculiar  charms, 
not  the  least  of  them  being  the  lack  of  that  sense  of  all- 
pervading  gloom  usually  felt  in  burial-places.  Like  most 
North  African  cemeteries,  it  spoke  of  quiet,  comfort  and 
smiling  repose.  It  was  a  flower-carpeted  park,  strewn 
with  white  stones  which  had  been  grouped  without  pre- 
conceived order.  No  sanded  avenues  here.  The  narrow 
paths  made  by  naked  feet  went  their  own  free,  circuitous 
way  through  the  tall  grass.  Large  areas  were  nearly 
desert.  In  other  places  the  number  of  tombstones  was 
great  enough  to  create  the  impression  that  quarried  stone 
awaited  here  the  coming  of  the  masons.  Elsewhere 
cyclamens  made  room  for  anemones;  crocuses,  irises  and 
asphodels  contributed  to  the  many  hues  of  this  fanciful 
Oriental  quilt.  Their  fragrance  had  attracted  so  many 
bees  that,  in  the  sunny  places,  it  seemed  as  if  lighted 
arrows  were  dancing  in  a  shower  of  powdered  gold. 
Pepper  trees  with  red  berries,  willows  and  sycamores,  grew 
under  the  palms.  All  the  tombstones  were  alike  and  of  a 
design  equally  simple;  marabouts  who  had  died  in  odor 
of  sanctity  being  alone  granted  the  kuba:  four  adobe  walls 
and  a  cupola  which  relatives  and  friends  whitewashed  twice 
a  year. 

In  the  gardens,  sunburned  Drawis  were  hoeing.  Circling 
around  noria  wells,  blindfolded  mules  brought  to  the 
surface  the  water  which  gave  life  to  this  paradise.  White 
walls  crowned  with  blossoming  vines  threw  but  little  shade 
on  the  dusty  road.  As  the  caravan  crossed  a  small  bridge 
made  of  palm  trunks  thrown  over  an  irrigation  ditch,  frogs 
jumped  in  the  water  and  musk  turtles  followed.     A  little 


120        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

further  along,  Gisele  closed  the  curtains  to  avoid  the  dust 
the  animals  of  a  donkey-driver  were  raising.  She  opened 
them  again  to  watch  a  native  woman,  who  came  wabbling 
on  the  road,  veiled  from  head  to  foot.  But  for  the  delicate 
ankles  encircled  with  silver  m'sa'is,  the  pink  heels  which, 
at  each  step,  were  leaving  the  red  babooshes  and  the  soft 
gazelle  eyes  enlarged  with  kolh,  she  might  have  passed  for 
a  bundle  of  linen.  A  blind  beggar  and  a  boy  came  in 
the  opposite  direction.  The  young  woman  thought  the 
appearance  of  the  two  so  biblical  that  she  greeted  them 
in  Arabic,  raising  her  forefinger  to  her  lips. 

"Greeting  on  thee  and  greeting  on  thy  father,  Jacob, 
son  of  Isaac." 

The  boy  answered  with  a  bright  smile: 

"  Ya  Saina,  salaam  aleikoum." 

The  caravan  halted.  Scarcely  had  Sidi-Malik  dis- 
mounted when  native  children  of  both  sexes,  some  of  them 
almost  naked,  children  who  ranged  in  tone  of  skin  from 
the  pure  ebony  of  the  thick-lipped  Haratin  to  the  pale 
complexion  of  the  Saharan  Moor,  came  running  in  the 
dust  with  outstretched  hands,  beginning  a  concerto  of 
"Salaam,  salaam;  Sidi  give  me  something."  Some  brought 
fruit,  others  square  crabs  caught  under  the  stones  of  the 
river-bed;  others  still — little  girls — brought  clear  water  in 
brightly  colored  earthen  jars  gracefully  balanced  on  the  top 
of  their  heads.  The  parents  of  all  these  children  were  at 
work  in  the  near-by  gardens;  and  they  came  as  much  for 
curiosity's  sake  as  to  satisfy  their  passion  for  insistent 
begging.  They  snapped  back  at  Sidi-Malik,  who  threat- 
ened to  drown  the  whole  batch  of  what  he  termed  the 
vermin  if  they  did  not  leave  more  room  for  the  camels. 


THE   OASIS  121 

Some  were  pure  negro  or  mulatto  children  with  prominent 
abdomens  and  high  cheek-bones;  others  were  Drawis, 
tainted  with  negro  blood,  but  with  ethnological  character- 
istics so  obviously  their  own  that  they  could  with  good 
reason  disclaim  affiliation  to  the  darker  race;  others  were 
of  pure  Semitic  ancestry,  not  a  few  of  these  possessing  an 
exquisitely  delicate  Jewish  cast  of  features.  One  of  them, 
a  little  girl  of  about  five,  whose  only  garb  consisted  of  silver 
bracelets,  heavy  ankle-rings  of  the  same  metal,  a  coral 
necklace  and  gold  ear-rings,  attracted  Gisele's  and  Leyton's 
attention  by  her  shy  gentleness.  She  had  brought  Barbary 
figs  in  a  basket  and  patiently  waited  for  a  taker.  This 
amounted  almost  to  begging,  the  fruit  being  so  common  as 
to  be  valueless;  but  greed,  the  shameless  and  ever-present 
greed  of  the  North  African,  appeared  only  in  her  eyes 
and  she  refrained  from  voicing  her  request.  When  Gisele 
took  the  fruit,  giving  her  a  coin  in  exchange,  she  did  not 
even  smile.  Flushed  with  pleasure,  she  grabbed  the  piece 
of  money,  and,  with  a  flame  of  savage  triumph  in  her  black 
eyes,  ran  away  as  fast  as  her  little  feet  could  carry  her. 
The  painter  and  his  companion  laughed  when  they  saw 
her  fall  after  a  few  steps,  rise  again  in  a  cloud  of  dust  and 
resume  her  flight  as  if  she  was  convinced  that  it  was  unsafe 
to  have  thus  fleeced  the  strangers.  They  saw  her  disap- 
pear behind  the  corner  of  a  low  wall. 

Sometimes  helped,  more  often  hampered  by  this  crowd 
of  unwashed,  shrieking  ragamuffins  eager  to  make  them- 
selves useful,  Sidi-Malik  and  Anoun-Dialo  unloaded  the 
camels  and  led  them  to  the  drinking-place.  Leyton, 
Gisele  and  d'Ornano  were  already  eating.  As  soon  as 
the  meal  was  over,  the  young  woman  got  up. 


122        IN  THE   WAKE  OF  THE   GREEN   BANNER 

"Who  follows  me  to  the  river-bed  ?"  she  asked.  "This 
is  too  lovely  a  spot  to  spend  the  hours  sleeping." 

She  was  looking  directly  at  d'Ornano.  The  shadow  of 
a  smile  came  on  her  lips  at  the  thought  that  she  held  him 
cornered  where  he  was  no  longer  in  a  position  to  hide  the 
true  timidity  of  his  nature  under  the  bluntness  of  a  soldierly 
retort.  To  allay  his  embarrassment,  she  added  immedi- 
ately, repressing  in  the  measure  of  her  power  the  dancing 
light  of  amusement  which  shone  in  her  eyes : 

"Does  Captain  d'Ornano  need  a  special  invitation ? " 

He  flushed  deeply. 

"  Not  at  all,"  he  answered,  no  longer  embarrassed  after 
a  direct  challenge.  "But  I  warn  you  that  I  am  poor 
company.  What  conversation  can  you  expect  of  a  Corsi- 
can  bear  ?  " 

"No  conversation  whatever.  George  talks  so  much  that 
he  usually  succeeds  in  mixing  my  ideas  on  all  subjects. 
You  will  answer  a  crying  need  if  you  can  make  him  mistake 
your  silence  for  stern  disapproval.  Does  he  ever  bother 
you  about  painting?" 

"I  can't  say  that  he  does." 

"  0  jortunatus  nimium!  Only  listen  to  him  and  he  will 
prove  to  you  that  in  the  violent  light  which  permeates  this 
landscape,  it  is  easier  to  obtain  a  true  outline  of  an  aloe 
by  drawing  the  shadow  than  by  studying  the  plant  itself. 
And  how  do  you  suppose  he  explains  the  intensity  of  the 
coloring?  Only  this  morning  he  vouchsafed  the  opinion 
that  the  Creator,  having  progressed  this  far  south,  running 
out  of  chiaroscuro  and  getting  impatient  because  of  the 
heat,  decided  to  daub  the  landscape;  painting  the  desert 
being  on  the  whole  such  a  hopeless  job  that  it  were  better 


THE   OASIS  123 

to  empty  the  box  here  and  let  the  light  do  the  triek.  Hence 
these  purple  shadows,  these  mouse-grays  deepening  into 
lavender,  this  Veronese  green  of  the  vegetation  under  the 
flawless  blue  of  the  cobalt  sky.  Is  not  the  conception 
original  ?  " 

They  sat  down  in  the  shade  of  a  tamarisk.  The  banks 
of  the  torrent,  so  barren  a  mile  above,  were  now  over- 
grown with  tall  reeds,  aloes  of  gigantic  size  and  Barbary 
cacti.  On  flat  stones,  in  the  middle  of  the  stream,  native 
women  were  washing.  Like  all  Saharans,  they  were 
without  veil;  their  garb  consisting  solely  of  the  tunic  of 
blue  hhunt.  Their  headgear  was  somewhat  more  elabo- 
rate, and  cumbrous  jewelry  was  not  lacking.  They  had  all 
brought  with  them  their  youngest  children.  In  the  water 
to  the  neck,  two  and  three  year  olds  were  splashing  each 
other  in  perfect  glee,  while  others,  younger  still,  and  none 
too  carefully  watched  by  their  mothers,  were  crawling  on 
the  flat  stones.  This  caused  Gisele  some  uneasiness. 
But  her  surprise  knew  no  bounds  when  she  observed  that 
some  of  these  infants  actually  could  swim.  She  saw  one 
who  could  not  be  more  than  four  and  a  half  years,  take  a 
fifteen  months'  baby  on  his  back  and  swim  across  a  pool. 
It  was  only  a  few  feet  in  diameter,  yet  the  water  reached 
in  it  a  depth  of  nearly  five  feet. 

Not  far  off  a  man  was  washing  his  raiment.  He  ac- 
quitted himself  of  this  duty  in  characteristic  man-fashion. 
Soap  was,  of  course,  out  of  the  question — he  probably 
never  had  heard  of  that  staple.  Stark  naked  in  the  sun, 
his  matrack  behind  his  back,  he  was  dancing  upon  his 
wet  clothes  to  the  accompaniment  of  a  monotonous  song. 

Ley  ton  went  in  search  of  a  secluded  spot  from  which 


124       IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

he  could  sketch  this  scene  without  being  himself  observed. 
The  conversation  between  d'Ornano  and  the  young 
woman  was  suddenly  interrupted  by  a  faint  nasal  music 
proceeding  from  the  other  bank.  White  spots  were 
moving  between  gray  walls.  It  was  a  tribe,  or  a  portion  of 
a  tribe,  on  its  way  to  summer  pasture  grounds.  The  new- 
comers came  slowly,  in  solemn  procession,  halting  a  minute 
in  front  of  a  whitewashed,  kuba  hidden  under  the  green 
palms.     Then  they  crowded  the  banks. 

Gisele  felt  that  the  coming  of  these  nomads  had  struck 
the  note  which  was  lacking,  animating  the  landscape  with 
a  touch  of  life  which  was  altogether  its  own,  something 
that  would  have  looked  out  of  place,  perhaps  ridiculous,  in 
other  lands,  but  which  was  here  absolutely  typical.  The 
players  of  fife,  derbukha  and  tom-tom  moved  aside,  con- 
tinuing to  play  their  pentatonic  novba  while  the  others 
proceeded  to  cross.  The  barbaric  melody,  in  other  lands 
suggestive  of  the  wild  calisthenics  made  popular  by  Cairo's 
dancing  girls,  had  lost  here  its  roof-garden  flavor.  It  had 
become  something  pregnant  with  the  fragrance  of  times 
infinitely  remote,  and  so  suggestive  of  untrammelled  free- 
dom that  the  young  woman  at  once  connected  the  scene 
with  the  pastoral  life  led  by  the  tribes  of  the  same  blood 
who,  centuries  ago,  harassed  the  frontiers  of  Assyria  in 
bold  defiance  of  the  chariot-riders  of  Tiglath-Pileser. 

The  horsemen  were  the  first  to  cross.  The  water  was 
so  shallow  that  it  barely  reached  their  stirrups.  These 
men,  evidently  pure  Arabs,  were  fully  armed.  As  a  pro- 
tection against  the  heat,  they  all  wore  the  burnous  or 
selham.  The  Chechia  of  white  cotton  and  camel's  hair 
protected    the   head.     Their   other   garments   had    been 


THE   OASIS  125 

chosen  to  suit  individual  fancy,  and  the  brightest  colors 
were  in  use.  But  as  the  different  pieces  of  clothing,  far 
from  having  been  selected  at  random,  had  been  chosen 
with  due  regard  to  the  relation  they  would  bear  to  the  color 
of  the  mount,  loudness  of  dress  was  nowhere  in  evidence. 
Each  had  two  burnouses:  one  white,  the  other  blue,  pearl 
gray,  brown,  scarlet,  lavender  or  orange.  They  all  had 
the  same  wide  stirrups.  Silver  spurs  as  long  and  sharp  as 
stilettos,  wrought-leather  saddles,  boots  and  trappings  to 
match  the  costume,  completed  their  equipment.  Their 
weapons  showed  the  same  eclectic  taste.  Flint-lock 
moukalas  were  the  rule;  repeating-rifles  of  European  make 
the  exception.  Although  revolvers  were  unknown,  they 
all  possessed  clumsy  pistols  of  enormous  caliber,  some  of 
them  of  the  most  curious  workmanship.  Old-style  yata- 
gans  were  in  the  possession  of  every  man.  Not  a  few  had 
lances  and  spears  of  Targui  make;  some  assagais.  In  their 
belts  they  carried  all  sorts  of  knives,  from  Algerine  flissas 
to  strange-looking  weapons  sold  in  the  bazaars  of  Timbuc- 
too. 

They  gathered  on  the  opposite  bank,  waiting  for  the 
rest  of  the  caravan.  Negroes  on  foot  followed  them.  Some 
were  slaves,  others  free  Hartanat  acting  in  the  capacity 
of  family  servants.  The  camels,  pack-animals  and  thor- 
oughbred, came  behind.  The  djemels  were  all  heavily 
loaded,  but  the  mehara  had  not  been  disgraced.  They 
carried  the  bassours.  There  were  not  enough  of  them, 
however,  and  many  women  were  left  on  the  other  bank. 
They  proceeded  to  cross  on  foot. 

The  Koran  prescribes  that  no  woman  shall  show  her 
face.     Very  well!    With  due  respect  for  the  commands 


126        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

of  Muhamed,  these  wives  and  daughters  of  nomads 
wrapped  all  their  clothing  around  their  necks  and  entered 
the  water.  Good  breeding  kept  d'Ornano  from  laughing, 
but  Gisele,  who  had  not  the  same  reasons  for  repressing  her 
mirth,  laughed  freely  when  she  was  thus  made  to  under- 
stand that  modesty  is  primarily  a  question  of  race  and 
degrees  of  latitude. 

It  was  five  minutes  before  d'Ornano  dared  look  at  his 
companion.  While  the  caravan  filed  past,  he  had  had  time 
to  face  the  situation,  and  for  once  his  customary  bluntness 
was  well  inspired.  Since  this  was  the  land  of  the  Matter 
of  Fact,  crude  situations  which  could  not  be  ignored  might 
be  improved  by  brutal  handling.  There  would  have  been 
absurdity  in  keeping  a  straight  face  when  laughing  was 
precisely  what  saved  the  young  woman  from  embarrass- 
ment.    He  entered  at  once  into  the  spirit  of  her  humor. 

"  I  am  afraid  this  is  the  land  of  the  shameless,"  he  said, 
"and  I  trust  you  will  not  be  too  disagreeably  surprised 
when  Djei'lma  proceeds  to  cross  a  ford  in  this  manner. 
In  the  Sahara  you  will  often  have  to  make  allowances  of 
this  kind.  Sidi-Malik,  for  instance,  is  apt  to  reproach  to 
his  camels  the  sins  of  their  female  ancestry  in  unlaudatory 
terms.  Djei'lma  is  quite  as  outspoken  and  perhaps  more 
disquieting.  It  were  better  if  you  did  not  understand  Ara- 
bic; but  since  you  do  all  my  apologies  are  useless.  They 
would  not  make  you  deaf  and  blind.  I  hope  you  did  not 
feel  too  uncomfortable,  this  morning,  during  Sidi-Malik's 
and  Djeilma's  quarrel.  Threats  and  the  language  of 
diplomacy  were  equally  powerless  to  make  them  shut  up." 

"So  it  appeared,"  she  interrupted.  "And  I  meant  to 
ask  you  what  it  was  all  about."  • 


THE   OASIS  127 

"  It  is  a  little  difficult  to  explain,"  he  replied.  "  Djeilma 
is  apt  to  flirt." 

"I  know  she  is." 

"Oh,  you  do?  Then  all  of  us  are  not  blind.  ...  At 
any  rate,  Sidi-Malik  is  very  wide  awake.  He  cudgelled 
Djeilma  soundly,  and  it  will  happen  again.  Let  me  tell 
you  a  story.  While  I  was  in  Ouadai,  Sidi-Malik  brought 
me  one  day  a  half-grown  girrit,  a  baboon,  you  know, 
captured  by  him  after  a  tremendous  run  through  the  thorny 
mimosas.  He  came  to  me  all  covered  with  blood.  When 
I  saw  him  give  the  monkey  a  spanking  I  thought 
anger  had  something  to  do  with  it.  But  no.  He  was  as 
cool  as  I  was,  and  he  explained  that  it  was  all  part  of  a 
system.  He  warned  me  to  lash  the  beast  every  morning, 
if  I  wanted  it  to  remain  meek  and  gentle.  Otherwise 
the  girrit  would  bite,  he  explained.  And  it  was  true.  I 
neglected  the  advice,  and  three  days  later  I  was  bitten. 
Djeilma  is  exactly  like  that  baboon.  Spiteful  wickedness 
would  simply  ooze  through  her  skin,  if  her  affable  master 
did  not  have  recourse  to  osteopathic  treatment." 

"Then,  a  priori,  you  indorse  the  system?"  she  inquired 

"With  all  my  heart.  And  why  not?  Do  not  believe 
that  I  am  making  a  paradox.  I  do  not  in  the  least  pretend 
that  all  women  should  receive  a  daily  beating.  I  am 
speaking  solely  of  Djeilma.  In  so  far  as  she  is  concerned, 
Sidi-Malik's  system  meets  with  my  unreserved  approval. 
Here  again  I  will  not  deny  that  the  chivalrous  feeling  which 
leads  a  man  to  spare  his  mate  is  eminently  respectable. 
But  we  must  have  a  definition  of  chivalry.  I  understand 
chivalry  to  be  the  respect  of  strength  for  weakness.  But 
what  respect  do  we  show  the  comparative  weakness  and 


128        IN   THE   WAKE    OF  THE    GREEN   BANNER 

low  cunning  of  a  snake?  When  a  badly  behaved  child 
pricks  us  with  a  pin,  we  spank  him  regardless  of  his 
physical  inferiority,  and  by  doing  so  we  do  not  in  the  least 
transgress  the  canons  of  generosity.  Why  should  we  not 
treat  in  the  same  way  a  woman  who  combines  irresponsi- 
bility and  venomousness  ?  Sidi-Malik  is  a  man.  Is  this 
a  reason  why  he  should  be  victimized  by  a  creature  of 
whims?  We  civilized  people  forbear  from  lifting  our 
hand  in  such  cases.  But  can  you  blame  Sidi-Malik  for 
acting  in  accordance  with  his  own  lights  in  the  matter  ? " 

"It  is  hard  to  say.  But  surely  you  won't  question  that 
true  wisdom  would  have  consisted  in  choosing  a  better 
companion?" 

"You  are  right.  But  this  is  a  mere  displacement  of  the 
question  at  issue.  Djeilma,  falling  into  less  skilful  hands, 
would  have  merely  been  free  to  work  greater  havoc.  She 
represents  a  certain  quantity  of  wickedness  loose  in  the 
world.  The  man  who,  like  Sidi-Malik,  holds  the  reins 
with  a  strong  hand  is  therefore  a  public  benefactor.  If 
he  made  a  bad  bargain  it  is  his  own  affair.  Champfort 
says  that '  we  must  choose  between  loving  women  and  know- 
ing them/  Sidi-Malik,  who  loves  Djeilma,  is  blind  to  her 
true  character.  Wisdom  for  him  would  consist  in  casting 
her  adrift.  But  to  blame  Samson  for  having  loved  Delilah, 
Hercules  Dejanire,  Jason  Medea  and  Antony  Cleopatra 
would  be  to  sin  against  human  nature.  We  can  regret, 
at  the  most,  that  they  loved  and  trusted  at  all." 

"Must  we,  though?"  Gisele  interrupted  with  some 
heat.  "All  these  heroes  would  have  been  brutes  had  they 
not  loved  as  they  did.  After  his  crimes  against  the  giants, 
the  hydra  and  the  Amazons,  we  cannot  fancy  a  Hercules 


THE   OASIS  129 

who  would  have  been  also  the  murderer  of  Dejanire. 
Without  his  Delilah,  the  house-wrecker  Samson  is  a  mere 
brandisher  of  jaw-bones;  and  without  his  Medea,  whom 
by  the  way,  he  abandoned  with  her  children,  Jason  is  only 
a  contemptible  thief  of  peltries  peddling  through  the 
Euxine  Sea  the  emblem  of  a  Spanish  order." 

"So  that  to  become  truly  great  Sidi-Malik  will  have  to 
wear  next  to  his  skin  the  burning  tunic  of  Nessus?"  he 
inquired  with  quiet  irony. 

"I  do  not  mean  that,  not  quite,  at  least." 

"You  simply  hold  to  the  view  that  it  was  love  alone 
which  transformed  into  heroes  men  who  were  only  great 
criminals  ?" 

"Precisely." 

"And  the  Greek  and  Jewish  allegories  have  no  meaning  ? 
.  .  .  Women  have  been  accused  of  individualism;  but 
they  will  go  far  to  uphold  the  standard  of  their  sex,  I 
believe.  Judith,  Herodias,  Cleopatra  and  Roxelane  mean 
to  them  what  Alexander,  Hannibal,  Csesar  and  Napoleon 
do  to  us.  The  case  is  this:  From  time  immemorial  the 
struggle  between  men  and  women  has  been  going  on. 
There  were  men  who  were  brutal.  But  I  am  sure  that 
there  were  still  more  women  who  were  as  shiftless  and  de- 
ceptive as  the  ever-flowing  waters.  Come  a  strong  man, 
and  invariably  the  woman  will  be  found  who  will  send 
him  to  his  doom.  For  the  honor  of  the  sex,  this  must 
be  explained  away.  True  enough,  even  women  will 
admit  that  Herodias  and  Cleopatra  would  dishonor  a 
modern  music-hall.  But,  say  they,  the  mole  bores 
underground  because  irresistible  enemies  roam  above. 
Treachery,    lies    and    treason    are    the    only    weapons 


130        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

which  the  greater  strength  and  brutality  of  man  leaves  in 
the  hands  of  women.  Then  comes  the  triumphant  argu- 
ment: "Is  it  the  rabbit  who  begins  the  shooting ?" 

"What  has  man  to  answer  to  it?" 

"That  it  was  not  Adam  who  stole  the  apple,  and  that 
king  Solomon,  who  married  three  hundred  wives,  still 
spoke  of  womankind  with  bitterness.  I  realize  that  all 
women  are  not  bad;  but,  then,  it  is  the  opportunity  which 
makes  the  thief.  It  is  a  fact  on  record  that  a  number  of 
strong  men,  when  not  utterly  ruined  by  women,  have 
been  led  by  them  to  dishonor  their  laurels.  Who  held 
Hannibal  in  Capua  while  Latium  was  rising  up  in  arms  ? 
Who  suggested  to  Csesar  the  harebrained  undertaking  of 
Alexandria,  thus  putting  in  jeopardy  the  total  work  of  his 
life?  Was  it  not  Lady  Hamilton  who  caused  Nelson  to 
order  the  shameful  bombardment  of  Naples?  Granted 
that  these  men  were  more  human  for  having  loved,  were 
they  really  greater?  Human!  What  does  that  mean? 
A  man  can  be  human  and  still  be  a  fool  or  a  knave  ?  Those 
who  aim  at  being  superhuman  should  strive  to  remain 
masters  of  themselves.  And  since  love  is  apt  to  bring 
weakness  they  should  shun  it  as  a  matter  of  principle." 

"  Really  ?  "  she  said  ironically.  "  As  a  result  we  shall  have 
another  star  in  the  frigid  sky  of  aimless  endeavor.  Another 
builder  will  look  upon  the  works  his  hands  have  wrought 
to  discover  that  all  is  vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit,  and 
that  there  is  no  profit  under  the  sun.  Are  there  no  good 
women  in  the  world,  Monsieur  d'Ornano  ?  Are  they  not 
the  reward  ?  What  is  this  vain  attempt  at  building  upon 
sand  ?  What  impels  the  worker  to  labor  ?  Surely  not  the 
empty  desire  of  shifting  particles  from  right  to  left  under 


THE   OASIS  131 

the  ironical  eye  of  the  Maker.  Why  does  he  act?  Love 
of  mankind,  will  you  say  ?  This  love  begins  at  the  fam- 
ily's hearth.  For  one  Dejanire  there  are  perhaps  two 
Aspasias  and  three  Beatrices.  Woman  has  been  too  long 
neglected  as  a  factor  of  civilization.  Is  it  possible  to 
be  superhuman  ?  Is  it  even  desirable  ?  A  dispassionate 
study  of  the  question  would  soon  bring  you  to  realize  that 
humble  women  have  impelled  the  work  of  great  builders. 
Can  it  be  said  that,  as  a  body,  we  are  responsible  for  the 
taste  the  most  objectionable  members  of  our  sex  inspire 
in  man?" 

Leyton  was  coming  back.  She  got  up.  At  the  begin- 
ning of  their  conversation  she  had  meant  to  make  a  friend 
of  d'Ornano.  Now  she  was  not  sure  that  it  was  worth 
while.  However,  that  most  feminine  of  all  womanly 
impulses,  curiosity,  impelled  her  to  glance  in  his  direction. 
He  was  smiling. 

"Well  done,"  he  said.     "May  I  add  something?" 

"You  may." 

"  I  am  apt  to  think  and  to  act  according  to  theories.  In 
the  majority  of  cases  theories  do  well  enough.  But  there 
are  exceptions  to  all  rules." 

"Well?" 

"  In  grammar,  exceptions  have  to  be  learned  by  heart. 
Don't  you  think  it  is  incumbent  upon  the  woman  to  make 
the  proof  of  her  worth  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  I  don't,"  came  the  reply.  "  Let  man  find  out — 
if  he  must." 


CHAPTER  X 

AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  KASBAH. 

The  whole  of  that  afternoon  they  trod  dusty  paths  in 
the  midst  of  gardens.  Their  guide  had  planned  to  reach 
Mader-Sultan  before  nightfall.  They  came  in  sight  of  the 
ksar  just  as  the  sun  disappeared  behind  the  western  spurs 
of  the  Adrar.  At  Leyton's  request,  Gisele  opened  the 
curtains  of  the  bassour. 

They  had  reached  the  Daabieh  of  the  Draa,  in  whose 
waters  all  the  colors  of  sunset  were  dipping.  Rising  on  the 
hillside,  above  the  flooded  bottom-lands,  Mader-Sultan 
stood  like  a  Mont  St.  Michel  isolated  by  a  rising  tide. 
The  aspect  of  a  city  crowned  with  a  massive  citadel,  bath- 
ing in  a  lake  surrounded  by  a  forest  of  palms,  was  so  strik- 
ing, especially  at  this  hour,  that  the  young  woman  cried  out 
in  admiration.  On  account  of  an  effect  of  mirage,  the 
town  seemed  to  float  in  the  air  high  above  the  water-line. 
The  crudeness  of  daylight,  with  its  sharply  defined  planes, 
had  changed  to  a  golden  haze  in  which  all  distances  were 
lost.  The  palm  forest,  on  the  opposite  shore,  became  blue, 
purple  and  lavender,  ending,  in  the  distance,  in  a  mist 
whose  pink  hue  was  scarcely  distinguishable  from  the  sky. 
The  stream  wound  its  way  through  enormous  depths  of 
landscape  towards  the  mountains  of  the  Wad  Nun,  in  the 
unfathomable  west. 

Mader-Sultan,  an  impossible  city  built  by  the  djinns, 

reflected  its  whitewashed  constructions  in  the  waters.     In 

132 


AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  KASBAH       133 

the  magic  of  the  light,  enough  details  were  lost  to  hide  its 
leprosy  and  its  squalor.  On  the  ramparts  built  on  the 
water-front,  on  her  mosques  and  her  Kasbah,  she  bore  the 
priceless  marks  of  age.  It  looked  as  if  a  city  had  always 
stood  there;  as  if,  for  centuries  past,  horsemen  on  pink 
mares  had  crossed  the  stream,  raising  a  shower  of  silvery 
sparks;  as  if  women  in  blue  khunt  had  always  kneeled 
on  flat  stones  to  fill  their  jars,  while  children  bathed  in 
front  of  the  cactus  hedges;  as  if  camels  and  laden  donkeys 
had  always  been  swallowed  by  the  yawning  shadow  of  the 
dark  gate;  as  if  beggars  had  always  been  found,  sitting 
cross-legged,  at  the  door  of  Sidi-Brahim's  kuba,  offering 
to  the  passer-by  pinches  of  the  earth  that  covered  the 
corpse  of  the  dead  warrior. 

If  the  illusion  was  destroyed  once  they  found  themselves 
inside  the  gates,  climbing  the  narrow  passage  that  led  to  the 
fondouk,  the  picturesque  sight  of  a  passing  funeral  came 
to  help  them  forget  the  wretchedness  of  the  surroundings. 
They  were  warned  of  the  approach  of  the  procession  by  the 
strident  shrieks  of  female  mourners.  The  street  was  narrow. 
To  avoid  blocking  the  path,  Sidi-Malik  saw  no  way  other 
than  pushing  his  camels  against  the  walls.  They  waited. 
As  the  wailing  came  nearer,  the  street,  deserted  a  moment 
before,  filled  with  men  who  were  leaving  their  unfinished 
pipes  of  kief  to  perform  the  duty  prescribed  by  the  Koran. 
A  subdued  but  ceaseless  chatter  overhead  warned  them 
that,  from  the  housetops,  females  were  looking  down  on  the 
caravan.  When  the  funeral  procession  turned  the  corner 
the  women  broke  into  a  concerto  of  discordant  shrieks. 

A  running  crowd  was  now  flooding  the  street.  Those 
who  carried    the  corpse,  convinced   that  they  improved 


134        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE    GREEN   BANNER 

with  every  step  their  chance  of  entering  Paradise,  attempted 
to  keep  ahead  of  the  less  fortunate  who  aspired  to  the  same 
honor.  The  procession  owed  to  this  emulation  a  consider- 
able impetus.  Wrapped  in  a  linen  shroud,  his  big  toes 
tied  together,  the  departed  sailed  on  a  litter  above  a  sea  of 
brown,  shaven  skulls.  His  wives,  his  female  relatives  and 
the  professional  mourners,  all  wailing  and  scratching  their 
faces  with  dyed  nails,  followed  on  foot  as  best  they  could, 
wabbling  along  with  the  baskets  of  offerings  and  the  sweet- 
meats which  dead  persons  are  supposed  to  eat  while  await- 
ing in  the  grave  the  coming  of  Azrael. 

It  took  five  minutes  for  this  procession  to  pass  by. 
When  the  caravan  reached  the  fondouk  night  had  com- 
pletely fallen.  To  Sidi-Malik's  great  disgust,  the  unload- 
ing had  to  be  done  by  torches.  The  Berber  was  by  no 
means  an  angel  of  patience;  when  ruffled  he  usually 
became  as  surly  as  his  own  beasts.  Long  contact  with 
the  camel  seemed  to  have  developed  in  him  the  habit  of 
snake-like  attacks.  His  quarrel  with  Djeilma  had  con- 
siderably upset  him,  and  this  unloading  by  torchlight 
furnished  him  with  a  pretext.  Having  managed  to  singe 
the  hair  of  one  of  the  animals,  which  retaliated  by  biting,  he 
picked  a  quarrel  with  Anoun-Dialo,  instantly  challenging 
him  to  a  bout  of  rabah.  The  negro  took  him  at  his  word 
and  knocked  him  down;  whereupon  the  camel-driver  drew 
his  knives,  and  was  with  difficulty  restrained  by  d'Ornano 
from  harming  his  most  devoted  admirer.  Although  he 
surrendered  to  the  Corsican's  entreaties,  he  gave  vent  to 
his  feelings  by  creating  a  terrible  scene,  cursing  everybody 
and  finally  leaving  the  fondouk  with  an  oath  that  he  would 
never  come  back. 


AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  KASBAH       135 

Gisele  went  to  sleep  with  a  heavy  heart.  Despite 
d'Ornano's  assurances  that  these  demonstrations  were 
periodic  with  the  camel-driver  and  that  he  would  surely 
turn  up  inside  of  forty-eight  hours,  she  still  had  misgivings 
as  to  their  future  relations  with  the  offended  man.  Their 
vessel  was  now  stranded  on  a  forlorn  shore.  What  course 
would  d'Ornano  and  her  cousin  follow  should  this  night's 
experience  prove  the  forerunner  of  complete  shipwreck. 
She  had  heard  much  of  Berber  revengefulness.  Sidi- 
Malik  might  forgive  his  servant.  But,  if  he  was  so  quick 
in  taking  offence,  might  he  not,  in  the  near  future,  decide 
that  it  were  better  to  part  from  the  Christians  who  could 
not  submit  to  his  fits  of  rabid  temper  ? 

At  the  time  she  retired,  Anoun-Dialo  and  the  Corsican 
were  leaving  the  fondouk  to  go  in  search  of  the  camel- 
driver.  Leyton  was  left  alone.  For  a  while  he  remained 
in  the  court-yard,  listening  to  the  singing  of  negro  mounte- 
banks who  accompanied  dancing  girls.  They  were  more 
intent  upon  stealing  than  anything  else,  he  thought. 
Their  mobile  eyes  of  jet  and  ivory  were  scanning  the  sur- 
roundings, as  they  yelled  at  the  top  of  their  voices,  covering 
the  drone  of  derbukha  and  tom-tom. 

Eddoura  nedda  d'ettidjar 
Izra  iar'  l'anaia  ben'  Ali; 
Ma  nesers  as  nougad  el  aar; 
Ma  nerfed  its;  bezzef  oumri 
El  azr  d'eg;  s'ag  etsili.* 

♦Some  time  ago  we  escorted  traders. 
The  Son  of  Ali  broke  our  covenant. 
If  we  submit,  dishonor  we  must  fear; 
If  we  fight  him,  great  hardships  we  must  bear. 
The  covenant  is  a  mountain  of  fire, 
But  upon  it  is  built  our  honor. 


136        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

The  dancers  were  two  Nubian  girls  of  twelve  or  fourteen 
years  of  age,  and  a  ripe  mulatto  beauty  hidden  under 
cumbrous  hardware.  As  the  singing  was  monotonous  and 
the  dancing  meaningless,  he  resolved  to  go  and  have  a  look 
at  the  Kasbah,  whose  striking  position  on  top  of  the  hill 
had  caught  his  eye  at  the  time  they  were  crossing  the  river. 

Near  the  gate,  he  passed  Dje'ilma.  He  went  by  without 
being  aware  of  her  greeting  and  of  the  salutation  of  the 
two  Lotharios  who  were  with  her.  The  three  of  them 
were  bowing  low  with  the  charming  smiles  of  overgrown 
children.  But  the  painter  had  not  yet  understood. 
Although  he  had  not  altogether  failed  to  notice  that 
Dje'ilma  often  rode  with  curtains  open,  he  attributed  this 
to  carelessness  and  to  the  unbearable  heat  of  the  bassour. 
Had  d'Ornano  told  him  that  these  manoeuvres  had  earned 
the  Circassian  the  beating  she  had  received  this  very 
morning,  his  surprise  would  have  amounted  to  suffocation. 
His  ignorance  of  Arabic  had  kept  him  in  the  dark  touching 
the  subject  of  the  quarrel;  and  the  Corsican,  small  talker 
at  all  times,  made  it  a  rule  never  to  peddle  gossip. 

The  Kasbah  was  not  far  distant.  Intending  to  watch 
the  rising  of  the  crescent  over  the  sea  of  palms  at  his  feet, 
he  had  just  lain  down  among  the  cacti  growing  at  the  foot 
of  the  high  wall  when  the  muffled  sound  of  footsteps  made 
him  turn  his  head.  He  beheld  Dje'ilma  sustaining  with 
upraised  arms  the  jar  she  had  just  gone  to  fill.  Her  beauty, 
the  gracefulness  of  her  biblical  attitude  so  irresistibly 
caught  his  eye  that  he  remained  a  full  minute  gazing  at 
her  in  silent  wonder.  She  was  perfectly  conscious,  if  not 
of  the  exact  nature,  at  least  of  the  extent  of  the  admiration 
she  had  aroused,  for  she  remained  still  as  long  as  his  glance 


AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  KASBAH       137 

was  upon  her.  Then  she  deposited  her  jar,  sat  down  cross- 
legged  and  asked  him  with  a  smile  so  bewitching  that  it 
made  amends  for  her  abominable  French : 

"Where  is  Sidi-Malik,  Sidi  Leitoun?" 

"I  don't  know,"  he  replied.  "Anoun-Dialo  and  the 
Captain  went  to  look  for  him.  They  told  me  he  would  not 
be  back  to-night." 

"Yes.  I  thought  myself  that  he  would  not  be  back  to- 
night." 

Leyton  laughed  aloud  at  the  candid  admission  the  last 
sentence  implied.  He  asked  her  what  she  would  do  should 
Sidi-Malik  make  an  unlooked  for  reappearance. 

"In  what  would  it  matter?"  she  answered.  "Didst 
thou  not  notice  that  at  the  gate  I  was  speaking  to  two 
young  men  ?  They  are  now  at  the  foot  of  the  slope  and 
both  of  them  enjoy  piercing  sight." 

This  was  becoming  interesting.  Feminine  psychology 
is  in  Oriental  countries  a  thing  so  hard  to  get  at  that 
Leyton  resolved  to  make  the  most  of  the  opportunity  the 
Circassian  afforded  him.     He  asked  innocently: 

"How  dost  thou  know  that  a  Christian  does  not  tell 
tales  on  a  woman  ?  What  led  thee  to  believe  that  I  would 
not  inform  Sidi-Malik?" 

He  thought  that  Djeilma  would  answer  that  the  trust 
she  reposed  in  him  was  instinctive;  that  she  confided  in  the 
Nazarene  merely  because  the  general  tenor  of  his  behavior 
led  her  to  believe  that  he  could  not,  without  betraying  his 
own  standards,  tell  her  master  of  her  misdeeds.  The 
answer  would  imply  the  admission  that  her  notions  of 
right  or  wrong  were  the  same  as  his  own;  and  this  was 
precisely   what   he   sought   to   ascertain.     But   Djeilma 


138        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

merely  laughed,  looking  at  him  sideways,  a  high  light  in 
her  pupils,  the  picture  of  flirtatious  levity  and  insolence. 

"I  knew,"  she  said.  "Did  I  not  often  ride  by  thy  side 
with  the  bassour  curtains  open  wide?" 

The  attack  had  been  so  sudden,  so  unlooked  for  that 
Ley  ton  reddened.     He  answered  a  little  curtly  I 

"  Yes,  and  I  meant  to  ask  thee  whether  Sidi-Malik  is  in 
the  habit  of  allowing  his  womenfolk  to  appear  before  his 
friends  without  a  haik  ?  " 

He  realized  too  late  that  in  her  eyes  this  was  a  stinging 
insult.     Her  eyes  darkened  as  she  snapped  back: 

"Bismillah!  I  bear  witness  that  all  men  are  fat-headed 
fools;  and  the  mother  of  the  Prophet  knows  that  I  speak 
the  truth!  If  thy  womenfolk  suffer  Sidi-Malik's  glance 
to  fall  on  their  unveiled  faces,  why  should  I  be  reproved  ? 
Do  I  not  know  that  the  women  of  thy  race  are  so  contempt- 
uous of  decency  that  they  allow  all  men  to  take  them  by 
the  waist  and  turn  them  around  and  around  like  drunken 
negresses  enjoying  the  display  of  their  bare  arms  and 
shoulders?" 

At  this  broadside,  Leyton  felt  his  moral  balance  fairly 
stagger  within  himself.  He  retorted  more  gently,  anxious 
to  smooth  the  ruffled  temper. 

"They  follow  the  custom  of  their  nation.  Is  it  the  same  ?" 

"It  is  the  same,  Akh  Arbi!  What  are  the  customs  of 
my  nation  ?  I  am  a  Mingrelian.  Do  women  go  veiled  in 
the  mountains  of  Kaf  ?" 

The  argument  was  specious  enough,  since  Djeilma,  a 
Mingrelian  only  by  descent,  had  been  born  in  Ras-Beirut. 
But  the  painter  thought  he  had  better  let  the  assertion  pass 
unchallenged.     He  had  nothing  to  gain  by  entering  upon 


AT  THE   FOOT  OF  THE   KASBAH  139 

an  idle  discussion  of  points  which  fashion  and  local  cus- 
tom will  always  be  allowed  to  determine  regardless  of  the 
best  judgment  of  man.  He  kept  silent.  Djei'lma,  plainly 
victorious,  regained  her  equanimity  of  humor. 

"Sidi-Malik  will  no  more  suspect  thee  of  evil,"  she  said 
enticingly,  "than  thou  wilt  suspect  him.  He  knows  that 
Rumis  are  not  like  other  men.  He  is  aware  that  they  will 
not  steal  what  they  cannot  lawfully  hold  and  that  they 
never  go  the  whole  length  of  their  desire.  He  thinks  that 
they  will  not  dare  love  a  woman  in  defiance  of  another 
man's  will.     He  does  not  fear  them." 

Blank  look  from  Leyton.  She  dodged  the  stare,  looked 
at  her  knees  and  chuckled  audibly. 

"  Why  should  I  not  show  my  face  to  thee  ?  "  she  went  on. 
"Am  I  not  pretty?  Sidi-Malik  told  me  that  thou  couldst 
picture  all  things  that  are  in  heaven  and  earth,  except  those 
we  do  not  see, — Allah  the  Most  Great  and  the  djinns.  I 
want  thee  to  make  me  a  picture  of  my  father." 

"Is  not  thy  father  dead  ?"  he  gasped. 

"He  is  dead,"  she  answered  very  gravely. 

"Then  how  can  I  make  a  picture  of  him ?  I  never  saw 
his  face." 

The  thought  of  what  the  old  ruffian  must  have  been  like 
made  him  laugh.  But  it  all  entered  into  Djei'lma's  calcula- 
tions.    She  added  very  quietly,  without  looking  at  him : 

"Then  if  thou  canst  do  no  more  than  paint  pictures  of 
living  things,  I  would  fain  have  thee  make  a  likeness  of 
myself.  Sidi-Malik  told  me  that  he  saw  thee  paint  a 
caravan.     Surely  I  must  be  more  sightly  than  a  camel?" 

"Of  a  truth  thou  art  beautiful,"  he  admitted — and  she 
looked  pleased ;  she  had  been  trying  to  force  the  acknowl- 


140        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

edgment  for  quite  a  while — "but  does  not  the  Koran  for- 
bid the  making  of  pictures  of  living  men,  women  and 
animals?" 

"Even  so,"  she  retorted.  "The  Persians  are  Moslem, 
too,  are  they  not?  In  Syria,  I  saw  Persian  sojfars  make 
pictures  of  men,  devils  and  lions  on  brass  trays  with  a 
chisel." 

"Then  they  were  breaking  the  commands." 

"Perhaps  they  were.  Still,  Allah  will  forgive  our  sins 
in  the  future  as  he  forgave  in  the  past.  Couldst  thou  not 
make  a  picture  of  me  if  I  were  dead  ?  Then  where  is  the 
difference  ?  Why  should  a  man,  who  can  gaze  on  a  woman 
when  she  is  dead,  refuse  to  look  at  her  when  she  is  young 
and  fair  ?  I  do  not  know  all  that  is  written  in  the  Book,  but 
this  I  know  well;  the  Nazarenes  make  pictures,  and  the 
Persians  make  pictures,  and  they  do  not  die.  Then  why 
should  I  not  do  as  I  please?  Thou  shalt  be  guilty  of 
breaking  the  commands,  not  I.  And  why  shouldst  thou 
care?  As  a  painter  of  pictures,  thou  breakest  the  com- 
mands every  day  of  thy  life,  Sidi  Lei'toun." 

"Thou  art  not  afraid  that  the  evil  eye  will  gaze  on  this 
likeness  of  thine  and  thereby  cause  thy  death?" 

"Why  should  I?"  she  retorted  with  a  smile.  "I  have 
talismans.  Look!"  She  drew  from  her  bosom,  not  with- 
out some  secret  intent,  he  thought,  a  handful  of  strange- 
looking  amulets.  "And  besides  I  will  keep  the  picture  with 
my  jewels,"  she  went  on.  "The  evil  look  cannot  reach 
through  the  sides  of  a  coffer,  can  it?" 

"Perhaps  not.  I  am  not  learned  in  these  things.  Be 
that  as  it  may,  I  cannot  make  thee  a  picture  now;  I  came 
away  from  Marakesh  without  the  tools  of  my  craft.     But 


AT  THE   FOOT   OF  THE   KASBAH  141 

when  we  reach  Figuig  I  shall  be  able  to  obtain  paints.  I 
shall  then  ask  Sidi-Malik  whether  he  deems  it  proper  to 
let  thee  sit." 

At  once  she  looked  radiant. 

"Why  ask  Sidi-Malik,  sun  of  my  heart  ?"  she  exclaimed. 
"He  knows  that  picture-making  is  not  proper.  Did  he 
not  tell  me  himself  that  Nazarene  picture-makers  draw  the 
body  and  not  the  garments  ?  And  even  if  he  did  not  ob- 
ject, what  use  have  we  for  onlookers?" 

Leyton  was  past  all  speech.  At  this  moment  a  shot 
rang  in  the  stillness.  Djeilma  got  up  abruptly.  A  glance 
told  her  that  the  attention  of  her  companion  was  engaged. 
With  a  swift  movement,  she  folded  her  arms  around  his 
neck,  bore  him  to  the  ground  and  kissed  him  several  times. 
The  boldness  of  the  attack  left  Leyton  too  astounded  to 
make  a  move.  She  had  already  picked  up  her  jar  and  was 
running  down  the  slope,  with  a  laugh  in  which  merriment 
mingled  with  mockery,  when  he  got  up.  She  turned  to 
make  him  a  gesture  of  farewell. 

" Do  not  come  just  yet,"  she  called.  "The  shot  warned 
me  that  Sidi  d'Ornano  has  just  come  back." 

Leyton  waited  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  When  he 
reentered  the  fondouk  he  was  told  by  the  Corsican  that 
Sidi-Malik  had  not  been  seen.  The  two  of  them  and 
Anoun-Dialo  spent  the  whole  of  the  next  day  searching 
Mader-Sultan  for  the  missing  man. 

Sidi-Malik  returned  after  nightfall.  His  fury  spent,  he 
bowed  and  made  apologies  with  the  most  winning  of 
smiles.  It  appeared,  from  the  relation  he  gave  of  his 
spree,  that  he  had  gone  for  consolation  to  the  camp  of  the 
Ouled-Na'ils,  immediately  starting  a  brawl  about  a  dancer 


142        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

who  had  let  fall,  while  performing,  the  piece  of  money  he 
had  stuck  on  her  forehead.  He  had  then  been  compelled 
to  use  his  knives,  which  he  had  done  with  some  success. 
After  a  pursuit  which  had  obliged  him  to  swim  the  Draa, 
he  had  become  uproariously  drunk  on  the  intoxicating 
syrup  obtained  from  the  fermentation  of  Filali  dates. 
While  in  this  condition,  he  had  so  diverted  a  party  of 
Arabs,  that  the  sheikh,  learning  that  he  was  bound  for 
Figuig  with  a  caravan,  had  invited  him  to  join  forces  with 
his  people,  who  left  the  next  day  for  Igli.  Sidi-Malik  had 
accepted  the  offer.  Now  that  he  had  violated  all  the 
commands  of  Muhamed,  he  came  back,  as  playful  and 
sweet-tempered  as  a  child,  to  crave  everybody's  forgiveness 
and  to  request  d'Ornano  to  accompany  him  to  the  tent  of 
Sheikh  Muhamed-ibn-Khadour.  The  Corsican  breathed 
a  sigh  of  relief  when  the  prodigal  son  made  an  attempt  at 
kissing  his  hand,  confessing,  with  genuine  repentance,  that 
although  he  lost  his  head  from  time  to  time,  he  would 
never  willingly  hurt  a  friend. 


CHAPTER  XI 

WITH  THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  TABLE-LAND 

It  was  the  Sahara,  the  dunes,  the  waves  of  sand  where 
camel  tracks  had  been  obliterated  by  the  gusts  of  the  last 
simoom.  All  forms  vibrated  in  this  furnace,  and  tragical 
noon,  making  the  ground  as  hot  as  sheet  iron,  drove  the 
men,  panting,  under  the  betoum  tree,  the  drin  brush  or, 
worse  still,  to  the  purple  splash  of  shade  loitering  between 
the  legs  of  the  camels.  Gisele  knew  now  no  other  dwelling 
than  the  low  tent  of  camel's  hair  called  felidj,  and  the 
brightly  colored  cage  that  rolled  on  top  of  the  camel's 
hump,  its  plume-surmounted  mast  swinging  in  the  molten 
turquoise  with  the  regularity  of  a  pendulum. 

For  the  last  two  weeks,  ever  since  they  had  left  Mader- 
Sultan,  they  had  been  travelling  under  the  protection 
of  Sheikh  Muhamed.  In  the  company  of  the  Ouled- 
Ougouni — "the  children  of  the  table-land" — a  formidable 
tribe  of  Arabised  Berbers  as  free  as  unlimited  spaces  and 
swift  camels  can  make  a  race,  they  had  first  gone  to  the 
holy  city  of  Tamgrut,  then  to  Dai'ated-Daoura  and  were 
now  two  days  distant  from  Igli. 

It  seemed  to  Gisele  that  there  never  would  be  an  end 

to  this  monotonous  advance.     Around  her,  it  was  still  the 

stony  Hamadan,  as  barren  and  billowy  as  a  rough  sea,  an 

expanse  of  waste  that  did  not  boast  a  tuft  of  driss,  far  less 

an  aloe  or  a  cactus. 

143 


144        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

Yet  the  splendor  of  the  Saharan  nights,  the  sunsets  and 
sunrises,  made  up  in  some  measure  for  the  irritation  of 
prickly  heat,  the  numbness  at  the  back  of  the  head  and  the 
pasty  salivating  of  thirst.  At  dawn  she  was  allowed  to 
behold  the  extremely  simple  in  gorgeous  garb,  the  quintes- 
sence of  ugliness  clothed  in  the  phantasmagoria  of  dreams, 
the  nihil  endowed  with  all  the  charm  and  subtle  tones  of  a 
garden  of  Eden. 

It  was  night  when  she  arose.  An  immensity  of  treacher- 
ousness  was  lying  awake  under  the  stars.  Here  three 
nights  were  superposed.  Above  the  rubies  of  Aldebaran, 
above  stars  of  the  first  magnitude  that  shone  like  sapphires 
and  amethysts,  burned  a  sea  of  constellations  totally  con- 
cealed in  others  lands  where  the  orbs  of  heaven  look,  at 
best,  like  the  scattered  pieces  of  a  broken  mirror.  Above 
this,  the  last,  the  utmost  night  of  all,  a  wondrous  milky 
way  climbing  to  the  zenith,  deluging  the  Empyrean  with 
a  powder  of  stars. 

With  the  first  oblique  rays  of  the  approaching  sun,  the 
indigo  velvet  of  the  silver-nailed  firmament  turned  to  tur- 
quoise, a  turquoise  of  milk  and  cerulean.  Close  to  the 
horizon  line,  the  sky  became  the  vaporous  slate  blue  thin 
wafts  of  smoke  take  in  the  frosty  air  of  late  autumn.  This 
gossamer  veil  that  no  wind  had  blown  across  the  waste 
was  responsible  for  the  unrealistic  fairy-like  aspect  of  the 
desert  at  this  hour.  Changes  in  tonality  were  so  swift  that 
no  impression  lasted.  The  now  purple  Hamadan  kept  its 
secret  hidden  another  minute.  Then  the  ball  of  scarlet 
shot  upwards  in  the  blue  haze  with  the  velocity  of  a  shell. 

A  wine-colored  universe  emerged  from  the  deep  waters 
of   darkness.     Mountains,    high    mountains    apparently, 


WITH  THE   CHILDREN  OF  THE   TABLE-LAND    145 

stood,  far  away  to  the  west,  under  a  rose-colored  sky.  In 
the  middle  distance,  waves  succeeded  to  waves,  gullies  to 
gullies;  billows  of  cerulean  blue,  of  lavender,  of  mauve,  of 
red-ochre  and  burnt  sienna,  unconsciously  calling  to  mind 
the  Homeric  epithet  of  "sea  of  the  many  laughters." 
Perhaps  the  glance  swept  fifty  miles  of  many-colored  ex- 
quisitely shaded  barren  waste.  A  stupendous  chaos  of 
rocks  scored  by  sandy  winds,  too  rough  to  admit  of  the 
thought  that  the  Maker  had  ever  bestowed  a  minute  of 
attention  upon  it,  stole  all  the  colors  of  the  prism  and 
arrayed  itself  with  such  gorgeous  splendor  and  barbaric 
taste  as  to  make  the  sense  of  fitness  of  the  beholder  stagger 
in  his  bosom.  Light  alone,  and  the  crudest  of  light,  had 
created  this  deceptive  nonentity.  Without  it,  the  Hamadan 
was  the  "  Country  of  Fear."  With  it,  it  was  the  Kingdom 
of  Stupor. 

Some  Ouled-Ougouni,  ghostly  figures  of  vaporous  ultra- 
marine, were  smoking  their  first  cigarette  in  the  high 
saddle,  cross-legged  and  inexpressibly  clown-like,  thus 
roosting  on  pink  camels.  Purple  in  the  lilac  shadow 
projected  by  the  high  cliff,  other  camels  went  to  the  water. 
Noiseless  and  phantasmal,  they  stretched  their  serpentine 
necks  in  the  twilight  gloom  that  still  dwelt  near  the  pool, 
a  mud  pond  whose  banks  were  littered  with  the  dessicated 
carcasses  of  dead  animals.  Their  drivers  followed  on  foot, 
as  ghostlike  as  the  beasts  themselves.  A  woman  passed 
with  a  jar.     Another  day  had  begun. 

If  anything,  the  sunsets  surpassed  the  splendor  of  the 
sunrises,  and  once  it  had  been  given  to  the  travellers  to 
witness  a  mirage.  The  hidden  magician  of  the  waste  had 
thrown  on  their  path  this  most  stupendous  of  all  surprises — 


146        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

a  lake,  a  palm  forest,  some  women  washing  in  the  shadow 
of  grim  city  walls,  a  dark  gate,  some  crooked  little  streets 
and  an  all-dominating  kasbah.  It  was  the  wonderful  hour 
when  camels,  donkeys  and  horsemen  came  down  the  steep 
bank.  The  universe  was  a  world  of  velvet  tones;  and  the 
greater  the  squalor  and  filth  of  the  surroundings,  the  more 
astonishing  their  transformation  in  the  incendiary  flare  of 
the  setting  sun.  How  could  the  belief  in  the  supernatural 
die  in  a  land  where  such  things  happened?  Who  could 
deny  the  powers  of  magic  and  the  existence  of  the  djinns  ? 
Earnest,  intent,  the  Ouled-Ougouni  gazed  upon  the  city 
of  the  dead.  They  not  only  looked  but  listened.  For, 
strange  to  say,  a  faint  sound  was  perceptible,  that  of 
waves.  The  waves  of  the  unreal  lake  actually  chopped 
on  the  unreal  beach.  It  was  the  loose  sand  which  had 
begun  to  sing  as  the  wind  carried  it  over  the  boulders. 

Sidi-Malik  had  come  post-haste  to  warn  his  friends  not 
to  look,  explaining  that  this  was  the  city  built  by  the  ghosts 
of  the  waylaid,  and  that  to  gaze  upon  it  brought  disaster. 
But  there  was  now  nothing  to  look  at.  The  whimsical 
Sahara  had  already  retaken  what  it  gave.  In  the  place 
of  the  apparition,  desolation  sat  as  immutable  as  ever. 
Possibly  the  Hamadan  loves  antithesis  above  all  else. 
They  were  still  under  the  impression  of  the  all  too  short 
lived  picture  when  they  came  upon  the  bleached  bones  of 
what  had  presumably  been  a  camel-driver. 

On  the  whole  they  had  had  no  reason  to  complain  thus 
far.  Although  progress  had  been  slow,  it  had  been  secure. 
In  fact,  the  run  of  things  had  been  so  smooth  that  Sidi- 
Malik  had  now  strong  hopes  that  the  dreaded  crossing  of 
the    Sahara    would    be    accomplished    without    mishap. 


WITH  THE   CHILDREN  OF  THE   TABLE-LAND    147 

The  curiosity  of  women,  and  especially  that  of  young 
fellows,  had  at  first  extremely  annoyed  Gisele,  but  since 
Djeilma  had  taken  to  flirting  for  both,  and  she  had  herself 
hit  upon  the  plan  of  simulating  madness,  she  had  not  been 
molested. 

Ever  since  the  camel-driver  had  made  an  official  declara- 
tion of  her  insanity,  Mile,  de  Diolie  had  become  an  object 
of  reverence.  Not  only  did  the  curious-minded  shun  her 
palanquin,  but  she  was  credited  with  holding  in  reserve  for 
those  who  annoyed  her  the  curse  that  would  cause  their 
cattle  to  die.  Strangely  enough,  it  was  especially  the  be- 
havior of  Djeilma  that  had  improved.  She  now  evinced 
a  good-will  and  friendliness  wholly  foreign  to  her  former 
deportment.  It  seemed  almost  that  she  derived  some 
personal  advantage  from  the  supposed  insane  condition 
of  her  European  sister.  Perhaps  the  Circassian,  at  all 
times  loath  to  share  with  a  rival  the  attentions  of  her  ad- 
mirers, felt  also  that  she  was  now  in  a  position  to  force 
Leyton's  last  defences.  In  any  case,  on  the  day  the  Ouled- 
Ougouni  pitched  camp  in  the  ksar  of  Ras-el-Ain  she  again 
took  the  offensive. 

This  oasis  belonged  to  the  Ouled-Ougouni.  It  was  culti- 
vated by  sedentary  khames  who  shared  the  produce  with 
the  nomad  masters.  But  as  settlement  of  accounts  would 
not  be  made  until  October,  when  the  Ouled-Ougouni 
returning  to  their  winter  quarters,  would  stop  to  gather 
the  date  crop,  a  stay  of  over  twenty-four  hours  had 
been  deemed  unnecessary  by  Sheikh  Muhamed.  The 
place  boasted  the  luxury  of  a  Hamam.  As  Ley  ton, 
that  morning,  left  it  after  a  much-needed  bath,  he  was 
accosted   by  a   barefoot  boy   who   handed   him    a   note 


148        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

written  with  red  ink  on  a  piece  of  blue  sugar-loaf  wrapper. 
Some  M'zabite  bazar-keeper  was  evidently  responsible  for 
the  wording  of  this  piece  of  gallant  literature.  The 
American  went  to  his  cousin  for  translation.  The  first 
lines  read  thus: 

"There  is  no  God  but  God.  Praise  be  given  to  the  Most  High. 
May  he  have  in  his  keeping  our  friend  Sidi  Lei'toun  whose  shining 
countenance  fills  our  heart. 

"  Know  thou,  Sidi  Lei'toun  that  DjeTlma  hopes  that  thou  art  well. 
Ben-Ai'ssa,  son  of  Ibrahim,  whom  thou  knowest,  has  a  garden  in 
Ras-el-Ain.  As  he  would  even  kill  his  brother,  if  his  brother  had 
seen  my  face,  the  key  is  mine  if  I  choose,  although  I  laugh  at  him. 
Sidi-Malik  believes  that  I  am  going  to  the  Hamam.  Ali,  the 
M'zabite  bazar-keeper,  whose  soukh  is  near  the  southern  gate,  will 
take  thee  to  the  door  at  three  o'clock.  Do  not  fail  to  come  accord- 
ing to  directions,  and  be  not  late;  for  short  are  the  hours  of  happi- 
ness and  long  the  dreary  watches  forsaken  by  sleep.  Ever  since, 
etc.  .  .  . 

Followed  suggestions  untranslatable,  both  on  account 
of  plain  speaking  and  intensity  of  feeling.  Gisele  tore 
the  missive  into  shreds  and  laughed  immoderately  as  she 
pictured  to  herself  the  closely  veiled  Djeilma  dictating  this 
extraordinary  missive  to  an  elderly  trader.  Where  on 
earth  were  the  French,  English  and  German  literatures? 
Latin  and  Byzantine  Greek,  especially  the  kind  transmitted 
to  posterity  by  tenth-century  bishops,  were  still  in  the 
race;  but  Arabic,  designed  for  unrestrained  profanity,  was 
miles  ahead,  being  obviously  a  safety  valve  among  lan- 
guages, to  be  kept  in  working  order  for  occasions  when 
extreme  suffering  clamors  for  immediate  relief.  Leyton 
noticed  that  the  messenger  still  stood  in  the  dust,  looking  at 
him  with  sober  impudence. 


WITH  THE   CHILDREN  OF  THE   TABLE-LAND    149 

"Roll,  fissa,  beni-kelb!"  he  shouted  in  Arabic,  momentar- 
ily forgetting  that  he  was  mute.  Then  he  stopped  for 
want  of  epithets,  and  it  was  Gisele  who  asked  the  boy  how 
much  he  had  been  given  to  bring  this  piece  of  filth. 
The  messenger  instantly  pointed  to  the  painter. 

"The  woman  told  me  he  would  pay  the  reward,"  he  said. 

They  laughed  at  this  further  instance  of  effrontery. 
While  Leyton  was  diligently  searching  his  belt  for  an 
elusive  Spanish  douro,  Gisele  inquired: 

"  How  much  did  she  give  thee  ?  If  she  gave  thee  nothing 
thou  art  paid;  for  no  fool  is  entitled  to  a  reward.  If  she 
gave  thee  little,  he  will  perhaps  make  up  for  it.  How 
much?" 

"True  as  there  is  no  God  but  God,  Sai'da,  she  only  gave 
me  a  mitkal." 

Again  Gisele  laughed.  The  boy  had  sworn;  but  greed 
alone  made  him  tell  the  truth.  These  natives  must,  she 
thought,  be  born  with  the  knowledge  of  the  human  heart 
and  all  that  dwells  therein,  since  an  eight-year-old  boy  was 
able  to  figure  that  a  mitkal  would  not  loom  very  large  in  the 
eyes  of  a  lover.     Leyton  gave  her  the  coin. 

"Perhaps  he  will  give  thee  a  douro,"  she  resumed. 
"  But  what  wilt  thou  do  for  a  douro,  if  thou  art  willing  to 
run  the  risk  of  being  spanked  for  a  mitkal  ?" 

"  I  shall  bless  the  Protector  of  the  poor,"  the  child  replied 
with  emphatic  seriousness,  "and  I  shall  buy  me  dates  to 
eat.     I  went  empty-bellied  since  last  Friday  at  sunset." 

Gisele  glanced  towards  a  fair-sized  abdominal  pro- 
tuberance shining  with  fat.  The  naked  barbarian  was 
undoubtedly  well  fed.  She  did  not,  however,  deem  it 
worth  while  to  challenge  this  additional  lie. 


150        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

"Thou  wilt  keep  thy  mouth  shut!"  she  dictated.  "Si- 
lence is  gold.  It's  only  silver  in  this  case;  but  a  loose 
tongue  means  twenty  stripes.  Thou  wert  unable  to  give 
him  the  note.  He  had  gone  riding.  Now  take  the  oath 
and  the  douro  is  thine." 

"Shall  I  swear  by  Muhamed's  beard  and  the  holy 
waters  of  Zem-Zem?"  asked  the  messenger.  "May  Iblis 
carry  me  to  the  Hell  of  Hadramaout  if  I  break  my  word. 
.  .  .  Thanks!  Now  that  the  money  is  all  mine,  I  shall 
betake  myself  to  the  mosque  to  bless  the  names  of  the  Most 
generous  strangers." 

"But  thou  didst  not  even  ask  our  names!"  the  young 
woman  retorted,  laughing.  "No  matter.  May  Allah  re- 
turn the  blessing  on  thy  head.  What  wilt  thou  do  with  the 
douro?" 

"Buy  sugar  from  Ali,  who  owes  money  to  my  father," 
the  boy  replied.  "I  can  buy  cheap.  I  will  sell  it  to  the 
women  of  the  Ouled-Ougouni." 

"  And  thus  thou  shalt  earn  another  douro  before  sunset  ?  " 

"Oua,  SaMa."  The  child  had  already  gone.  Gisele 
was  so  anxious  to  pour  the  whole  story  into  d'Ornano's 
ear  that  she  promptly  sent  Leyton  about  his  business. 
No  sooner  had  the  Corsican  learned  how  she  had  made  the 
boy  swear  to  hold  his  tongue,  than  he  advised  the  painter 
to  go  for  a  ride  and  to  take  great  care  not  to  be  back  before 
five  o'clock.  He  gave  as  his  reason  that  Djeilma  might 
become  hostile  should  her  advances  be  met  by  direct 
refusal.  Gisele  strongly  suspected  that  he  merely  sought 
to  frighten  the  American  and  keep  him  away  for  the  rest 
of  the  afternoon,  but  she  did  not  interfere.  Leyton  fol- 
lowed the  Corsican's  advice  and  retired  early. 


WITH   THE   CHILDREN   OF  THE   TABLE-LAND    151 

At  about  ten  o'clock  that  night  shrieks  and  sobbing 
issuing  from  the  next  felidj  awoke  d'Ornano.  He  shook 
Leyton,  who  was  snoring,  and  bade  him  listen.  Sidi- 
Malik  was  thrashing  Djeilma.  The  crucial  thought  that 
the  camel-driver  had,  in  some  way,  become  acquainted  with 
the  morning's  episode  filled  the  artist  with  dismay.  He 
remained  awake  until  the  Corsican,  satisfied  that  the  joke 
had  lasted  long  enough,  suggested  that  in  all  probability 
Ben-Aissa,  who  gave  Djeilma  the  key,  had  followed  her  to 
the  garden;  and  that  Sidi-Malik,  who  kept  close  watch  on 
half  a  dozen  admirers  of  his  wife,  had  dogged  his  footsteps. 
This  reassured  Leyton,  who  went  back  to  sleep,  feeling  that 
he  was  now  provided  with  an  excuse.  Should  the  Cir- 
cassian call  him  to  account,  he  would  be  able  to  reply  that 
he  had  gone  riding  to  divert  the  suspicions  of  her  master. 

He  never  awoke  to  the  true  nature  of  the  joke  that  had 
been  played  upon  him.  The  new  bond  of  complicity  that 
linked  d'Ornano  to  his  cousin  prevented  either  of  them 
from  opening  his  eyes.  The  Corsican  and  the  young 
woman  had  profited  by  his  absence  to  spend  the  afternoon 
together. 

It  was  as  Gisele  had  suspected.  If  d'Ornano  had  held 
aloof  so  long  it  was  due  to  the  conviction  he  entertained 
that  Leyton  was  virtually  an  accepted  suitor.  Even  now, 
she  could  not  get  him  to  say  a  word  in  the  painter's  presence. 
But  when  she  had  him  cornered,  he  thawed  out  without 
compelling  her  to  exert  undue  pressure  and  soon  became 
strangely  interesting.  It  was  not  that  he  disliked  Leyton; 
on  the  contrary,  they  had  become  the  best  of  friends.  But 
he  had  some  of  the  failings  of  the  actor,  not  the  least  of 
which  was  his  insistence  on  keeping  the  stage  to  himself. 


152        IN   THE    WAKE   OF  THE    GREEN   BANNER 

Yet  she  could  not  call  him  vain,  mechanical  or  empty- 
headed.  Action  was  the  very  essence  of  his  life,  that  was 
all.  His  thoughts  themselves  were  dynamic.  It  was  as 
they  were  speaking  about  Corsica  that  she  was  struck  by 
this  fact.  D'Ornano  had  undertaken  to  establish  that 
special  conditions  had  bred  in  the  island  a  community  so 
peculiar  that  it  was  a  mistake  to  apply  to  its  members  the 
ordinary  standards. 

"  Since  the  dawn  of  history  we  have  been  in  the  midst  of 
things,"  he  vouchsafed;  "and  yet  so  far  removed  from  the 
general  movement  of  civilization  that  we  have  remained 
a  people  of  shepherds.  The  Carthaginians  and  the 
Romans  came  on  the  island  solely  for  timber.  They 
left  us,  on  the  whole,  very  much  alone.  But  since 
the  fourth  century  we  have  fought  in  turn  the  Vandals, 
the  Byzantines,  the  Arabs,  the  Normans  of  Sicily,  the 
Pisans,  the  Genoese,  the  Germans,  the  Aragonese,  the 
Turks,  the  English  and  the  French.  We  established  three 
republics.  We  made  a  king  of  a  comic-opera  adventurer 
who  knew  so  well  his  business  that  he  sold  Ajaccio  to  the 
Jews  on  the  day  we  compelled  him  to  flee  for  his  life.* 
We  sent  colonels  to  the  king  of  France  who,  in  the  estima- 
tion of  that  monarch,  were  worth  ten  thousand  men.f  We 
provided  the  Pope  with  garde-nobles,  the  Sultan  with 
corsairs.     At  Lepanto  we  fought  on  both  sides.     We  made 

*  Theodore,  Baron  de  Neuhoff.  He  kissed  a  country  girl  and  a 
revolution  followed.  The  hapless  sovereign  fled  through  a  window, 
half  clad,  hotly  pursued  by  the  girl's  brother. 

t  Sampierro,  who  married  Vanina  d'Ornano.  His  wife  left  him 
and  fled  to  Aix,  in  Southern  France,  with  her  son  Alphonse  d'Ornano, 
who  died  in  1610  a  field-marshal.  The  day  Sampierro  succeeded  in 
joining  her,  he  humbly  begged  her  pardon,  strangled  her,  and  wore 
a  mourning  dress  ever  afterwards. 


WITH   THE   CHILDREN   OF   THE   TABLE-LAND    153 

alliances  with  everybody,  always  with  the  view  of  destroying 
Genoa.  When  Bonifacio  was  besieged  by  the  Genoese, 
starvation  reached  the  point  when  the  mothers  milk  had 
to  be  given  to  the  soldiers.  Happily,  the  Turk  Dragut  ran 
his  galleys  into  the  harbor  in  the  nick  of  time.  But  we 
always  were  a  small  people;  and  in  three  centuries  the 
Corsican  vendetta  destroyed  by  murder  over  two  hundred 
thousand  men.  So  it  was  not  until  we  made  Napoleon  the 
instrument  of  our  revenge  that  we  were  able  to  take  Genoa 
by  the  throat,  strangle  her  and  let  her  rot.  You  say  that 
mathematicians,  statesmen,  sailors  and  great  captains  are 
the  only  crop  we  raise  ?  Perhaps.  We  have  been  corsairs 
and  outlaws  so  long  that  it  is  little  wonder  if  we  still  retain 
the  characteristics  of  the  preying  animal." 

"The  characteristics  of  the  preying  animal."  Gisele 
made  mental  note.  And  yet  it  was  evident  to  her  that  the 
Corsican  was  not  at  all  a  desperado.  She  thought  it  inter- 
esting that,  of  all  French  dramatists,  Corneille  was  the  one  he 
loved  best.     Corneille,  the  apostle  of  duty  and  will  power. 

Although  the  Corsican  denied  that  he  sought  the  triumph 
of  will  power  for  its  own  sake,  he  seemed  to  conceive  will 
power  only  as  applied  to  the  fulfilment  of  some  disquieting 
extraordinary  duty.  This  conception  of  heroism  was  so 
natural  with  him  that,  when  questioned  on  the  subject  by 
the  young  woman,  who  was  extremely  fond  of  demonstra- 
tions far  I'absurde,  he  could  not  find  it  in  his  heart  to  con- 
demn Simeon  Stylites,  who  spent  a  lifetime  on  top  of  a 
column  for  the  empty  pleasure  of  proving  to  himself  the 
power  of  his  indomitable  will.  She  then  asked  him 
whether  he  did  not  view  man  as  a  caged  animal  whose 
worth  lies  solely  in  the  intensity  of  his  efforts  to  break  jail ; 


154       IN  THE   WAKE   OP  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

and  if  he  was  sure  that,  from  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  he  did 
not  secretly  worship  the  rebellious  Lucifer? 

She  soon  found  that  his  notions  of  personal  and  family 
honor  were  just  as  strange.  He  told  her  how,  while  a 
second  lieutenant,  he  had  left  Algiers  without  notice  to  go 
and  help  a  cousin  of  his  who  had  committed  murder. 
For  twelve  days,  compelling  the  constabulary  to  cover 
twice  the  whole  length  of  the  island,  he  had  been  "the  hare 
that  teaches  running  to  a  rabbit,"  to  quote  the  expression 
she  heard  him  use.  He  was  risking  his  beloved  commis- 
sion at  that  game;  but  fortunately  they  had  landed  in 
Sardinia  without  mishap. 

It  turned  out  that  the  girl  in  the  case,  after  wild  prayers  to 
the  crucifix  of  her  bedroom  and  the  Madonnas  of  the  cross- 
roads, had  walked  all  the  way  to  Bonifacio  and  there  had 
hired  a  boat.  The  two  cousins  were  still  on  the  rocks,  on 
the  Sardinian  side  of  the  straits,  when  they  met  her.  They 
had  tried  to  induce  her  to  go  back.  She  had  threatened 
suicide,  swearing  that  she  would  henceforth  live  in  the 
brush  with  her  hero,  follow  him  to  prison  if  he  was 
captured  and  die  if  he  was  killed. 

D'Ornano  spoke  of  this  Lsetitia  with  an  admiration  that 
astonished  Gisele.  She  reflected  that,  if  the  Corsican  was 
wont  to  judge  all  women  according  to  such  a  standard,  he 
must  find  her  own  love  of  ratiocinating  pretentious,  her 
whole  behavior  unmaidenly  and  her  determination  to 
remain  a  self-asserting  personality  altogether  unnatural. 
Yet  she  was  not  so  sure.  Something  had  prompted  her 
to  ask  him  whether  it  was  at  her  father's  request  that  he 
had  carried  her  away  from  Marakesh.  He  had  left  the 
tent  without  answering. 


CHAPTER   XII 

THE  GATHERING  OF  ISLAM 

The  caravan  broke  camp  at  an  early  hour.  As  was 
customary  with  him,  Ley  ton  saddled  his  horse  and  went 
for  a  ride.  He  had  wandered  some  distance  away  from 
the  main  body  of  the  column,  when  suddenly  shots  and 
yells  made  him  fear  that  the  caravan  was  attacked;  the 
shots  being  altogether  too  numerous  to  countenance  the 
suspicion  that  the  uproar  arose  from  the  discovery  of  an 
every-day  murder,  and  that  friends  and  relatives  of  the 
slain  husband  were  hot  on  the  trail  of  the  wife's  paramour. 

He  brought  his  horse  to  a  stop.     It  was  not  yet  half-past 

four,  and  the  silver  nails  of  firmament  had  scarcely  begun 

to   pale  in  the  turquoise  of  the   eastern  sky.     The  cold 

shadows  hung  so  heavy  over  the  stony  table-land  that  he 

could  not  even  guess  at  what  lay  two  hundred  feet  in  front. 

He  had  wandered  so  far  that  he  knew  little  of  his  position 

and  was  sure  of  nothing  beyond  the  fact  that  the  column 

lay  on  the  side  from  which  came  the  bleating  of  sheep,  the 

neighing  of  horses  and   the  shrill  call  of  irate  mother 

camels.     It  had  never  occurred  to  him  that  his  position 

would  prove  extremely  insecure  in  the  event  of  a  rezzou  of 

prowlers  attempting  a  coup  de  main  on  the  property  of  his 

hosts.     The  shots  that  now  crackled  in  every  direction 

convinced  him  that  such  an  attack  had  been  made.     He 

155 


156        IN  THE   WAKE    OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

wondered  what  course  of  action  lay  open  to  him  in  this 
juncture.  By  retracing  his  steps  he  would  not  only  run 
the  risk  of  meeting  with  the  thieves  themselves,  but  of 
being  mistaken  for  one  of  them. 

He  was  deliberating  whether  he  had  not  better  dismount 
and  lie  on  the  ground  to  avoid  stray  shots  when  the  un- 
mistakable hiss  of  a  bullet  came  to  remind  him  that  it  was 
high  time  to  decide.  Reluctantly,  he  drew  his  right  foot 
from  the  stirrup.  Perhaps  it  was  fortunate  that  his  hesi- 
tancy had  lasted  so  long.  He  had  barely  reined  his  horse 
and  grabbed  the  pommel  to  dismount  when  a  ghostly 
shadow  born  of  the  gloom  materialized  into  a  mehari 
rider  who  made  straight  for  him  with  pointed  lance.  He 
wheeled  his  horse  around  and  used  his  spurs.  The  animal 
was  good  and  he  soon  found  himself  alone.  But  he  had 
caught  sight  of  a  strange  apparition:  an  unknown  being 
in  indigo  garments  who  went  veiled  like  a  woman  and 
carried  a  two-handed  sword  and  a  long  spear.  As  he 
galloped  straight  ahead,  other  shadows,  other  mehari 
riders  in  the  same  garb  of  blue,  crossed  his  path.  He 
succeeded  in  avoiding  them  all,  probably  because  the 
prowlers  were  themselves  in  full  flight  and  were  more  con- 
cerned with  their  own  safety  than  with  the  problematic 
laurels  they  would  win  in  an  encounter  wth  a  lone  horse- 
man. He  ran  at  full  speed  into  a  troop  of  Ouled-Ougouni, 
among  whom  he  recognized  Sidi-Malik. 

The  first  word  which  struck  his  ear  was  one  which  shed 
light  upon  the  whole  adventure.  Ait-Litzam — the  Tuaregg ! 
As  soon  as  they  were  alone,  he  asked  the  camel-driver  if 
these  were  really  the  "Forsaken  of  God,"  the  fabulous 
mehari  riders  of  the  far  South.    That  Tuaregg  should 


THE    GATHERING   OF   ISLAM  157 

come  so  far  north  on  prowling  expeditions  was  a  thing  that 
he  could  not  understand.  Sidi-Malik  assured  him  that, 
in  the  hope  of  plunder,  they  had  followed  the  harka,  the 
contingent  levied  by  Bou-Amel. 

A  few  minutes  later  they  met  d'Ornano.  The  first 
thought  of  the  Corsican  had  been  to  lead  what  men  he 
could  rally  to  the  rear,  to  protect  the  bassours. 

"Your  going  alone  and  so  far  is  an  imprudence  which 
you  must  avoid  in  the  future,"  he  said  to  Leyton.  "  Bou- 
Amel  is  in  Igli,  otherwise  the  Tuaregg  would  not  be  met 
so  far  north.  As  he  is  a  personal  foe  of  mine,  the  least 
that  could  happen  to  you,  in  the  event  of  capture,  is  that 
he  would  provide  plenty  of  room  between  your  head  and 
your  shoulders.  So  long  as  we  are  protected  by  the  anaia 
of  the  Ouled-Ougouni  we  are  safe.  But  we  part  from  them 
to-night.  If  anybody  should  suspect  that  you  are  not  a 
bonafide  Moslem  and  a  mute,  we  shall  meet  with  disaster. 
Follow  my  advice  and  remain  near  the  bassours." 

"Who  is  this  Bou-Amel  ?"  asked  Leyton. 

"  He  is  the  man  who  engineered  the  massacre  of  Monnier 
and  Trafaeli,"  came  the  answer.  "When  Monnier  was 
struck  from  behind,  I  snatched  a  rifle  from  somebody's 
hands  and  fired  at  Bou-Amel.  I  hit  him  squarely.  As  this 
cost  him  the  left  eye,  it  goes  without  saying  that,  if  I  am 
caught,  I  shall  lose  both  eyes  and  a  good  many  things 
besides.     You  won't  be  treated  with  more  consideration." 

"  But  how  do  you  know  that  Bou-Amel  is  in  the  vicinity  ?" 

"  You  have  seen  the  '  veiled  people/  have  you  not  ?  For 
ten  years  Bou-Amel  has  had  no  better  friend  than  their 
amenokal.  You  can  take  it  for  granted  that  when  the 
Tuaregg  send  north  a  rezzou  of  this  strength,  our  com- 


158        IN   THE   WAKE   OF  THE    GREEN   BANNER 

munications  are  cut  and  the  four  tribes  of  the  confederation 
are  on  the  warpath.  I  should  not  be  surprised  in  the  least 
if  Abd-er-Rhaman  had  left  Taza  for  Figuig,  and  if  Bou- 
Amel,  at  the  head  of  the  Saharan  contingents  was  on  his 
way  to  join  him.  We  shall  see.  I  don't  think  we  shall  have 
to  wait  long.  Unless  I  am  much  mistaken,  something  will 
turn  up  before  twelve  o'clock." 

The  presence  of  Bou-Amel  in  or  near  Igli  became  a 
matter  of  certainty  in  the  early  afternoon,  when  the  caravan 
caught  sight  of  the  cloud  of  dust  raised  by  an  approaching 
body  of  goums.  There  was  considerable  stir  among  the 
Ouled-Ougouni  by  this  time.  A  fantasia  was  about  to 
begin,  and  every  man,  in  his  gaudiest  apparel  of  bright 
clothing  and  strange  weapons,  had  mounted  his  horse  and 
taken  his  place  behind  his  sheikh.  Excited  females  peeped 
through  the  curtains  of  all  bassours,  dispensing  smiles  and 
yells  of  encouragement,  while  children  had  already  begun 
to  make  the  powder  speak,  shooting  the  dust  with  bullets 
in  utter  unconcern  of  possible  accidents.  Although  Bou- 
Amel  had  not  left  Igli,  the  sheikh  in  command  of  the  ad- 
vancing troop  was  no  smaller  a  personage  than  his  lieu- 
tenant Abd-el-Khader,  a  Sheriff  from  Tafilelt  and  as  such  a 
descendant  of  the  Prophet.  The  honor  done  Sheikh 
Muhamed  and  his  people  was  in  no  wise  lessened  by  the 
fact  that  this  Sheriff  was  second  cousin  to  the  Pretender. 

Leyton  also  dressed  in  his  best.  He  had  fully  deter- 
mined to  take  part  in  the  lab-el-baroda  that  was  about  to 
commence.  Since  he  was  the  guest  of  the  tribe,  the  risk 
of  being  accidentally  shot  by  the  bullet  of  an  unknown 
enemy  was  small,  and  this  would  be  his  last  chance.  This 
very  evening  their  little  troop  would   leave  the  camp  of 


THE    GATHERING   OF  ISLAM  159 

the  Ouled-Ougouni  to  sleep  another  time  in  the  narrow 
cells  of  a  fondouk.  On  the  morrow  they  would  start  alone 
for  Figuig,  leaving  Sheikh  Muhamed  to  discuss  as  best 
he  could  the  terms  of  the  agreement  that  would  induce  his 
people  to  leave  their  women,  children  and  belongings  in 
Igli  to  follow  the  Maddhi — it  was  known  that  Bou-Amel 
had  assumed  this  title — to  the  camp  of  Abd-er-Rhaman. 

The  two  columns  had  come  to  a  stop  two  hundred  yards 
away  from  each  other.  Tom-toms,  fifes  and  derbukhas 
began  to  play  a  nouba  as  languorous  as  a  love  song  and  as 
jerking  as  a  jig  performed  on  the  bag-pipes  of  Gordon 
Highlanders.  Sheikh  Muhamed  rode  a  few  lengths  for- 
ward and  made  a  sudden  signal. 

Away  went  the  first  horses.  Abd-el-Khader's  goums 
were  already  in  full  career.  Leyton's  heart  leapt  when  he 
felt  himself  caught  in  the  whirlpool  and  when  he  heard  the 
first  crackling  of  shots.  This  was  wonderfully  like  war; 
and,  after  all,  there  was  nothing  like  a  good  horse,  firm 
ground  and  a  bright  sky!  For  a  while  he  gave  himself, 
soul  and  body,  to  the  pure  delight  of  running  amuck,  riding 
at  top  speed,  yelling  and  shooting  like  mad  in  the  midst  of 
a  sea  of  horsemen.  The  two  troops,  a  total  of  nearly  three 
thousand  men,  came  in  contact.  Dust  and  powder  smoke 
made  it  almost  impossible  to  see.  But  such  was  the  skill 
of  the  men  in  the  front  ranks  that  the  painter,  who  followed 
Sidi-Malik  with  blind  confidence,  found  himself  clear  of 
the  opposite  party  without  experiencing  even  the  jostling 
he  had  looked  for. 

He  then  withdrew  far  enough  to  command  a  full  view  of 
the  ensemble  without  losing  sight  of  the  details.  Both 
bodies  had  already  mingled  and  were  assuming  another 


160        IN  THE   WAKE    OF  THE    GREEN   BANNER 

order.  Sheikh  Muhamed  and  Abd-el-Khader  had  left 
the  ranks,  greeted  each  other  and  exchanged  kisses.  They 
were  now  passing  their  men  in  review.  An  ever-flowing 
torrent  of  horsemen  poured  past  them,  in  ranks  eight  deep, 
at  full  gallop,  shooting,  yelling  and  throwing  up  their  long 
guns.  The  gorgeous  spectacle  derived  perhaps  a  greater 
relative  importance  from  the  soberness  of  the  background. 
Not  a  shrub,  not  a  sign  of  verdant  vegetation  was  in  sight. 
Moving  specks  of  intense  color  entered  and  left  the  cloud 
of  powder  smoke  that  rolled  close  to  the  ground  in  front  of 
the  two  chiefs.  The  white  mass  of  this  vapor  made  a 
violent  contrast  with  the  chrome  yellow  of  the  stony 
Hamadan  and  the  ochrous  red  of  the  argillaceous  cliffs  that 
towered  behind,  cliffs  just  high  enough  to  eliminate  from 
the  picture,  without  overshadowing  the  whole,  the  part  of 
the  sky,  close  to  the  horizon  line,  that  was  not  of  the  most 
intense  cobalt.  Close  by,  the  halted  caravan — children  in 
white  gandourahs,  kneeling  and  munching  camels,  striped 
bassours,  capering  rams  and  braying  donkeys  blissfully 
rolling  themselves  in  the  dust,  howling  yellow  dogs,  naked 
negro  servants  and  scattered  baggage — gave  the  needed  note 
of  picturesque  disorder.  But  for  all  its  barbaric  romance, 
the  scene  was  not  without  its  revolting  realism.  Leyton 
saw  two  men,  who  had  been  shot,  dragged  aside,  while  an 
unconscious  child,  his  left  hand  blown  off  by  an  over- 
loaded pistol,  was  being  carried  away  by  his  hysterical 
mother.  Nearly  every  horse  he  laid  eyes  upon,  foaming 
and  exhausted,  bled  from  the  mouth  and  from  the  ribs, 
stabbed  pitilessly  by  the  long  silver  spur  of  the  horseman. 
The  lab-el-baroda  lasted  as  long  as  the  overworked 
horses,  alternately  driven  at  top  speed  and  stopped  dead  in 


THE    GATHERING   OF   ISLAM  161 

full  career,  could  stand  the  strain.  It  was  not  until  the 
excitement  was  over  that  the  painter  found  time  for  reflec- 
tion. He  went  to  join  d'Ornano,  who  looked  concerned. 
The  Corsican  told  him  that  the  Ouled-Ougouni  were  sure 
to  join  their  whole  force  to  the  fighting  strength  already 
mustered  by  Bou-Amel.  The  Maddhi's  display  of  elo- 
quence— he  was  preaching  a  holy  war  in  Igli — was  more 
in  the  nature  of  an  artistic  literary  finish  than  anything  else. 
Up  his  sleeve  he  kept  arguments  much  stronger  than  those 
marshalled  in  ordinary  theological  disputes.  "Join  me 
and  you  plunder  the  earth,  thereby  gaining  also  Paradise," 
did  not  go  without  the  alternative:  "Whoever  refuses  to 
fight  the  Christian  dogs  will  have  to  fight  my  spahis." 
Sheikh  Muhamed  was  a  nomad  cut  upon  the  ordinary 
pattern.  He  was  not  in  the  least  averse  to  plundering  his 
guest  of  the  previous  day  immediately  after  parting  from 
him.  There  would  be  no  sleep  that  evening.  The 
fugitives  would  have  to  steal  out  of  Igli  as  soon  as  the  moon 
would  be  up. 

An  hour  before  sunset  they  came  in  sight  of  the  oasis. 
The  river,  with  its  palm  plantations,  lay  at  the  foot  of  an 
enormous  cliff.  A  strong  bordj  crowned  the  hilltop,  en- 
circling, within  its  crenellated  ramparts  of  mud  and  straw, 
a  theological  school,  a  mosque,  a  caravansery  and  the 
tomb  of  Sidi-Ziggurt,  Bou-Amers  great-grandfather.  The 
whole  constituted  a  zaouia,  whose  revenues  were  divided 
equally  among  all  the  male  descendants  of  the  holy  man. 
Bou-Amel  was  here  entirely  at  home.  It  was  supremely 
evident  that  the  baraka  of  his  ancestor  had  been  transmitted 
to  himself  alone,  since  none  of  his  brothers  and  cousins  had 
soldiers  at  their  back. 


162        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

The  village,  a  typical  Saharan  ksar,  was  built  half-way 
up  the  slope.  A  belt  of  dilapidated  walls  protected  it  on 
the  river-side.  In  remote  times,  troglodytic  populations 
had  dwelt  in  caves  hewn  in  the  face  of  the  cliff,  and  some 
houses  were  still  built  half  in  the  open,  half  underground. 

Traces  of  violence  met  the  sight  of  the  travellers  as  soon 
as  they  reached  the  gates.  The  soldiery  in  possession  of 
the  bordj  were  evidently  inclined  to  act  with  the  brutality 
of  conquerors.  Dread  was  written  on  the  faces  of  all  who, 
for  some  reason  of  age  or  sex,  had  been  prevented  from 
joining  the  harka.  The  aspect  of  the  ksar  spoke  Jittle  in 
favor  of  the  authority  wielded  by  Bou-Amel  over  his  lawless 
followers.  All  acknowledged  his  sanctity  and  were  ready 
to  follow  him  in  the  hope  of  plunder;  but  all  shirked 
discipline  and  were  not  even  disposed  to  respect  the  per- 
sonal property  of  their  chief.  It  was  true  that  the  signs  of 
his  vengeance  were  everywhere  in  evidence.  The  division 
existing  between  the  tribes  and  their  inherent  hostility  to 
each  other  furnished  the  chieftain  with  ever-ready  execu- 
tioners. An  incredible  number  of  decollated  heads  adorned 
the  gate.  As  the  different  tribes  succeeded  each  other  in 
doing  patrol  duty,  all  who  were  not  friends  of  the  guards 
ran,  if  caught  looting,  the  risk  of  their  heads.  The  proofs 
of  this  vigilance  were  forwarded  in  bags  to  Bou-Amel. 
Emulation  was  keen  between  the  commanders;  and  many 
a  poor  devil,  innocent  of  all  wrong,  but  with  no  relations  to 
protect  him  and  no  money  to  spend  in  bribes,  had  been  led, 
hands  tied,  to  the  chaouch. 

Sidi-Malik  soon  furnished  Leyton  and  d'Ornano  with  a 
number  of  equally  sickening  details.  Bou-Amel,  having 
decreed  that  each  ksar  in  Touat  should  contribute  towards 


THE   GATHERING  OF  ISLAM  163 

the  expenditures  of  the  war  in  proportion  to  its  population, 
had  left  part  of  his  army  south  to  levy  the  tax,  instructing 
his  lieutenants  to  cut  off  the  noses,  the  hands  or  the  feet, 
according  to  the  gravity  of  the  offence,  of  all  who  proved 
unruly.  These  trophies  were  forwarded  in  bags  to  Igli. 
But,  lacking  impressiveness,  they  were  merely  dumped  in 
front  of  the  main  gate,  where  all  the  carrion  and  offal  from 
the  town  found  its  way  and  lay  rotting.  The  grinning 
heads  alone  were  allowed  to  jeer  at  the  living  from  the  other 
side  of  the  passage.  Stuck  on  broad-bladed  spears,  they 
stood  a  few  inches  above  a  stain  of  dried  blood  that  had 
turned  to  a  disgusting  brown  on  the  limewash  of  the 
ramparts. 

With  the  view  of  keeping  up  appearances,  the  travellers 
had  entered  the  town  with  the  Ouled-Ougouni.  But 
d'Ornano  swore  that  their  stay  in  this  abode  of  fiends  would 
be  as  short  as  possible.  Instead  of  going  to  the  fondouk, 
as  Shiekh  Muhamed  thought  they  would,  he  decided  to 
leave  immediately  by  another  gate  and  to  await  in  the 
gardens  the  hour  when  flight  would  be  safest.  A  short 
stay  would  be  necessary,  if  only  to  obtain  supplies  and 
enough  water  to  last  until  the  caravan  should  reach  the 
nearest  well.  When  Ley  ton  spoke  of  going  to  Sheikh 
Muhamed  to  take  formal  leave  and  thank  him  for  his 
past  kindness,  the  Corsican  shrugged  his  shoulders,  saying 
that  if  the  chief  of  the  Ouled-Ougouni  got  wind  of  their 
intention  to  steal  out  of  Igli,  he  would  keep  a  party  of 
camel-riders  in  readiness  to  pursue  them. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
"who  can  account  for  a  rumi's  thoughts?" 

Imperceptibly  slowing  down,  Sidi-Malik  managed  to  let 
all  the  Ouled-Ougouni  go  past  him.  He  then  stopped, 
dismounted  and  made  a  pretence  of  readjusting  the  breast 
strap  of  Djeilma's  camel.  The  field  was  now  clear. 
They  turned  to  the  right,  and  soon  lost  themselves  in  a 
labyrinth  of  narrow  streets. 

The  thoroughfares  were  apparently  given  over  to  the 
soldiery.  A  peep  through  the  closed  curtains  caused 
Gisele  to  realize  the  weight  of  the  military  rule  under 
which  the  people  of  the  ksar  were  groaning.  They  kept 
indoors,  awaiting,  with  their  valuables  ready  for  flight 
or  concealment,  the  departure  of  Bou-Amel.  They  had 
paid  the  war  tax  without  a  murmur.  Their  only  care  now 
was  to  prevent  the  street  brawls  for  which  the  nearest 
householder  would  be  held  responsible,  and  which  would 
be  taken  as  a  pretext  for  renewed  plunder.  As  a  conse- 
quence, only  men  in  the  Maddhi's  retinue  and  the  char- 
acteristic rabble  that  follows  in  the  wake  of  undisciplined 
troops  were  to  be  met  in  the  streets — Aissaoua,  musicians, 
mountebanks  of  every  description,  khaouadjis,  snake- 
charmers,  beggars,  popular  orators,  sellers  of  hemp  and 
dainties,  sneak-thieves,  Jewish  pawnbrokers  and  money- 
lenders in  black  caps,  and,  above  all,  dancing  girls  and 

harlots.     It  seemed   to   Gisele  that  all   the   Ouled-Nail 

164 


A  RUMl's  THOUGHTS  165 

women  in  the  Sahara  had  taken  up  their  abode  in  Igli.  In 
the  street  they  now  followed,  she  counted  no  less  than 
forty  of  them.  Corpulent,  flabby  and  painted,  they  sat 
motionless  and  ominously  silent  in  the  darkness  beyond 
the  threshold  of  their  doors. 

Sidi-Malik's  loquacity  was  both  amusing  and  alarming. 
He  had  made  an  impressive  display  of  his  various  weapons 
and  had  ordered  Anoun-Dialo  to  turn  up  his  sleeves  to 
show  his  muscles.  He  also  addressed  a  jocular  remark  to 
every  man  met  on  the  way,  frequently  alluding  to  the  fact 
that  he  had  just  learned  in  a  conversation  with  Abd-el- 
Khader  and  Skeikh  Muhamed  that  Bou-AmePs  harka 
would,  on  the  morrow,  be  increased  by  the  whole  fighting 
force  of  the  Ouled-Ougouni.  Gisele  knew  that  he  would 
not  claim  the  acquaintance  of  such  men  as  Abd-el-Khader 
and  Sheikh  Muhamed  unless  he  was  thoroughly  afraid. 
His  dread  appeared  to  her  less  ludicrous  when  she  reflected 
that  he  was  not  addicted  to  showing  the  white  feather,  and 
that,  as  a  consequence,  the  danger  must  be  real. 

At  last  they  reached  the  walls.  Night  had  now  fallen. 
For  three-quarters  of  an  hour  they  wandered  through  date 
palms,  aloes  and  cacti,  in  search  of  a  secluded  spot  which 
would  be  concealed  from  view  and  on  the  confines  of  the 
oasis.  They  finally  made  a  stop  and  divided  tasks.  The 
moon  would  not  rise  before  ten  o'clock.  They  would 
profit  by  the  delay  to  get  the  necessary  supplies.  Anoun- 
Dialo  would  go  back  to  town  after  food  and  water.  Sidi- 
Malik  would  sell  the  two  remaining  horses.  Leyton  would 
remain  in  camp  to  protect  the  women  and  watch  over  the 
baggage.  D'Ornano  would  go  to  ascertain  the  strength 
of  the  harka  Bou-Amel  intended  to  lead  against  Figuig. 


166       IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

He  warned  Leyton  not  to  light  a  fire  and  to  avoid  making 
any  noise,  directing  also  Anoun-Dialo  to  gag  the  camels, 
which  were  all  males,  so  that  they  could  not  utter  any  call 
in  case  a  caravan  should  pass.  Gisele  and  Djeilma  were 
advised  to  take  some  sleep.  They  would,  after  this,  travel 
eighteen  hours  at  a  stretch,  and  at  high  speed.  And  it  was 
impossible,  at  least  for  the  French  girl,  to  sleep  in  the 
bassour. 

Leyton  was  soon  left  alone.  An  hour  passed  drearily 
away  and  his  craving  for  a  smoke  became  unendurable. 
Absent-mindedly,  he  dug  into  his  belt  for  matches  and 
tobacco  wherewith  to  light  a  pipe.  He  had  hardly  blown 
the  match  out  when  a  voice,  a  whisper  heard  close  to  his 
ear  turned  the  current  of  his  thoughts. 

"I  thought  that  we  were  not  to  light  any  fire,  Sidi 
Lei'toun?" 

He  remained  motionless,  wondering  how  Djeilma  had  so 
managed  to  approach  him  that  not  even  the  faintest  sound 
had  warned  him  of  her  presence.     Again  she  whispered. 

"This  is  dangerous,  Sidi  Lei'toun.  Perhaps  Ben-A'issa 
has  taken  the  trail  and  is  hidden  in  the  shrubs.  Who 
knows  ?  We  are  no  longer  under  Sheikh  Muhamed's  pro- 
tection, and  not  only  does  Ben-A'issa  know  that  Sidi-Ma- 
lik  is  a  rich  man,  but  he  also  remembers  that  he  has  given 
him  a  beating." 

Again  Leyton  refrained  from  answering.  He  did  not 
know  yet  if  this  piece  of  news  was  intended  to  carry  a  care- 
fully veiled  threat,  a  warning,  or  if  it  was  merely  a  pre- 
amble. He  waited.  If  he  well  understood  Djeilma,  it 
was  certain  that  she  would  not  beat  around  the  bush  very 
long.     Her  next  remark  came  to  verify  this  impression. 


A  RUMI'S  THOUGHTS  167 

"Speak  to  me,"  she  ordered  almost  angrily.  "In- 
shallah!  Shall  I  be  despised  by  a  Rumi?  Why  didst 
thou  not  come  to  the  garden  in  Ras-el-Ain  ?  I  waited  till 
six  o'clock." 

"Why  should  I  have  brought  upon  myself  the  beating 
Ben-Aissa  got  in  my  place?"  he  said  coolly.  "Am  I  a 
fool  that  I  should,  at  a  woman's  word,  disdain  to  look  for- 
ward before  I  leap?" 

"  Ya  illah!"  she  exclaimed  contemptuously.  "  Who  but 
a  coward  would  mind  a  beating  where  a  woman  is  con- 
cerned ?  But  I  know  thee  to  be  no  coward,  Sidi  Leitoun. 
Thou  knowest  very  well  that  Sidi-Malik  did  not  find  me 
with  Ben-Aissa,  or  he  would  have  killed  us  both.  He  beat 
us  simply  because  he  had  suspicions.  But  there  were  two 
entrances  to  the  garden.  I  would  not  allow  myself  to  be 
caught  in  a  trap,  would  I  ?  Art  thou  afraid  of  Sidi-Malik  ?  " 

"No,"  he  answered  very  seriously.  "A  man  cannot 
very  well  be  afraid  of  another  and  still  have  him  for  a 
friend.  With  a  knife,  Sidi-Malik  is  the  best  man;  but  he 
will  be  the  first  to  acknowledge  that  with  a  revolver  I  can 
shoot  straighter  and  quicker  than  he  can.  He  saved  my 
life  once.  We  are  brothers.  He,  Sidi  d'Ornano  and  I  be 
three  brothers." 

"Well?" 

"A  brother  must  be  faithful  to  his  brother.  That  is 
why  I  did  not  go  to  the  garden." 

There  was  a  short  period  of  silence.  Djeilma's  low 
laugh  warbled  in  the  night's  fragrance  with  the  sibilance 
of  running  water. 

"Bismillah!"  she  mused  aloud.  "Who  will  ever  ac- 
count for  a  Rumi's  thoughts?    Sidi-Malik  betrayed  the 


168        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

Senussiya  for  money.  Were  not  the  Senussiya  his 
brothers?" 

Ley  ton  did  not  answer.    She  went  on: 

"Thou  art  a  Nazarene;  and  Sidi-Malik  will  not  even 
eat  with  thee,  Sidi  Leitoun.  Dost  thou  really  believe  that 
he  thinks  more  of  a  Christian  than  he  does  of  his  own 
brethren?  I  tell  thee,  he  is  faithless.  I  know  that  he 
betrayed  the  Senussiya.  It  is  wise,  therefore,  not  to  place 
any  trust  in  what  he  says." 

"But  why  is  he  faithful  to  me,  then,"  interrupted  Ley- 
ton,  who  possessed  a  man's  keen  discernment  in  all 
matters  of  friendship.  "Why  is  he  also  faithful  to  Sidi 
d'Ornano  ?  I  shall  tell  thee.  It  is  because  he  knows  that 
we  two  are  as  fearless  as  he  is,  and  that,  like  him,  we  love 
danger  for  danger's  sake.  He  knows  this  ever  since  we 
went  together  to  the  Kutubia.  If  Sidi-Malik  respects  few 
things,  at  least  he  respects  fearless  men.  I  will  trust  him 
for  that  reason.  He  knows  that  he  met  his  own  kind 
when  Sidi  d'Ornano  and  I  came  to  him." 

While  delivering  himself  of  this  piece  of  bragging,  he 
kept  enough  sense  of  humor  to  smile.  He  fully  realized 
that  a  declaration  of  this  kind  would  appear  highly  ludi- 
crous to  Gisele;  but  this  was  the  land  where  every  man 
sang  his  own  praises,  and  Djeilma  was  very  sober  and  at- 
tentive, making  no  attempt  to  conceal  her  deep  admiration 
and  reverence. 

"But  surely  thou  dost  not  believe  that  Sidi-Malik 
would  remain  faithful  if  he  loved  thy  wife,"  she  retorted. 
"The  very  knowledge  that  thou  possessest  a  heart  for 
revenge  would  urge  him  on.  He  knows  well  that  Abd-er- 
Rhaman  is  also  fearless.     And  who  art  thou,  who  is  Sidi 


A  RUMl'S  THOUGHTS  169 

(TOrnano,  when  compared  to  Mouley  Abd-er-Rhaman-es- 
Sheriff,  the  Commander  of  the  Faithful,  the  very  offspring 
of  Mohamed?  Sidi-Malik  prays  five  times  a  day  and 
keeps  the  fast  of  Ramadan.  Abd-er-Rhaman  is  not  only 
the  Emir-el-Mumenin  but  he  is  also  a  very  fearless  man. 
What  sort  of  respect  did  Sidi-Malik  show  him,  pray  thee  ? 
He  caught  him  by  the  neck,  like  a  beggar,  and  kidnapped 
him." 

The  argument  was  scarcely  answerable.  Leyton  felt 
beaten  and  made  the  mistake  of  showing  it.  Djeilma, 
profiting  by  the  temporary  advantage  she  had  gained, 
went  on,  making  straight  for  the  goal  she  had  all  this  time 
endeavored  to  reach. 

"So  will  Sidi-Malik,  some  day,  try  to  ascertain  the 
depths  of  thy  courage,"  she  said.  "  It  is  true  that  he  de- 
spises danger.  He  would  ere  this  have  kidnapped  thy 
cousin  were  she  not  a  maboul.  But  he  respects  insane 
people.  Yet  it  is  not  too  late  for  him  to  do  it,  perhaps. 
Thou  shouldst  know  that  it  is  not  wise  to  let  another  man 
strike  first." 

Leyton  opened  his  mouth  to  take  breath  and  to  answer, 
but  he  thought  better  of  it  and  held  his  tongue.  It  was 
indeed  lucky  that  the  love  of  argumentation  had  not  led 
him  to  acknowledge  that  Gisele  was  not  insane.  He  kept 
quiet,  lingering  a  minute  over  Sidi-Malik's  puzzling  incon- 
sistencies. Djeilma  saw  her  chance  to  progress  a  step 
farther. 

"Do  not  tell  me  any  more  that  Sidi-Malik  is  thy  broth- 
er," she  said.  "  He  has  no  faith.  But  he  is  wise,  and  he 
follows  the  inclination  of  his  own  heart.  All  that  the 
Koran  requires  of  a  man  is  that  he  shall  pray  five  times  a 


170        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

day  and  bestow  alms.  There  is  no  sin,  since  Allah  will 
forgive  in  the  future  as  he  forgave  in  the  past.  Did  not 
Muhamed  prescribe  ablutions  to  wash  away  sin  ?  Did  he 
not  take  to  himself  Zainab,  the  wife  of  his  adopted  son 
Zaid,  and  Miriam,  the  Egyptian  captive  ?  Is  it  not  written 
in  the  Koran  that  Gabriel,  on  both  occasions,  came  down 
from  heaven  to  ratify  the  deed,  and  did  not  the  Prophet, 
to  obey  the  commands,  spend  thirty  days  with  Miriam 
on  a  mountain  top,  threatening  Ayesha  with  a  divorce  if 
she  did  not  cease  her  wailing?  Who  are  we  that  we 
should  be  freer  from  sin  than  our  Lord  Muhamed  ?  Per- 
haps I  should  have  told  thee  all  this  before  I  asked  thee 
to  follow  me  to  the  garden." 

"  God  Almighty ! "  thought  Ley  ton.  "  Is  this  the  creed  of 
these  people?"  He  was  now  plainly  helpless.  He  at- 
tempted to  turn  the  tables  by  opposing  his  own  religious 
principles  to  those  professed  by  the  fair  tempter.  This 
was  too  absurd,  after  all;  too  much  like  the  adventure  of 
St.  Anthony  with  the  outspoken,  if  ethereal,  Queen  of 
Sheba !  And  not  even  a  friendly  pig  was  at  hand  to  help 
him  cry,  "Get  thee  behind  me,  Satan." 

"And  still  I  would  have  refrained  from  coming,"  he 
retorted.  "I  am  a  Rumi,  and  it  is  written  in  the  Book  of 
the  Nazarenes  that  a  man  shall  love  only  his  own  wife. 
It  is  because  he  obeys  the  rules  set  down  by  his  Prophet 
Aissa  that  a  Rumi  refrains  from  seeking  life  and  plunder 
as  Moslems  are  wont  to  do." 

"Inshallah!  What  a  man  of  lies  thou  art!"  Djeilma 
presently  ejaculated.  "Do  I  not  know  that  the  Inglis 
grabbed  Egypt,  and  the  Franzawis  the  whole  of  Moghrib 
merely  for  plunder's  sake?    Where  is  the  difference  be- 


A  RUMl'S  THOUGHTS  171 

tween  a  Moslem  and  a  Rumi  ?  A  man  is  a  man  and  lays 
hands  on  what  he  can  get,  unless  indeed  he  be  a  fat  fool 
or  a  coward.  Where  is  the  man  with  a  knife  and  a  stout 
heart  who  would  shun  his  neighbor's  wife  ?  That  is  not 
a  true  reason,  Sidi!" 

Leyton  gave  it  up.  Plainly  Djeilma  had  her  doubts 
touching  the  value  of  Christian  standards;  and  her  ideas 
of  morality  were  so  elastic  that  he  saw  no  way  to  escape 
being  dumped  on  top  of  the  common  heap  of  fat  fools  and 
cowards.  In  civilized  lands  he  might  not  have  cared; 
here  he  strenuously  objected  to  being  thus  classified  by  a 
beautiful  woman.  He  held  his  peace,  raking  diligently 
his  stock  of  ideas  for  a  victorious  answer.  He  knew  that 
Djeilma  was  not  to  be  put  off  by  arguments  that  would 
not  satisfy  her  practical  if  somewhat  peculiar  logic.  She 
went  on  without  waiting. 

"What  is  it  that  kept  thee  back,  then?"  she  asked.  "I 
know  that  thy  French  cousin  is  a  beautiful  woman; 
although  her  hair  is  not  black,  her  nails  are  short  and  not 
dyed,  and  she  does  not  know  the  use  of  kohl,  henna  and 
proper  tattooing.  But  I  am  as  beautiful  as  she  is.  Look 
at  me!  Moreover,  she  is  a  maboul;  and  who  would  love 
a  maboul  ?  Look  at  me!  Thou  hast  seen  me  in  daytime. 
Thou  art  a  maker  of  pictures,  and  thou  knowest.  Indeed, 
everybody  knows  that  Mingrelian  women  are  the  most 
handsome  of  all.  If  it  was  not  so,  why  should  our  parents 
sell  us  when  we  are  yet  little  girls,  and  why  should  we 
become  inmates  of  every  rich  man's  harem  ?  Why  is  it 
that  thou  refusest  to  love  me,  then?  I  succeeded  in 
kissing  thee,  the  other  day,  and  my  whole  heart  melted. 
Leave  that   woman   to   Sidi-Malik   and   let    us  depart! 


172        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

We  need  not  stay  in  Moghrib;  I  shall  follow  thee  to  thy 
country.  Say  only  that  thou  wilt  take  me,  and  I  shall 
even  go  the  length  of  stabbing  Sidi-Malik  while  he 
sleeps." 

The  rustle  of  a  dress  brought  them  both  to  their  feet 
as  she  was  in  the  very  act  of  kissing  him.  For  the  last 
few  minutes  Leyton  had  been  feeling  extremely  uncom- 
fortable; but  now  that  he  became  aware  that  Gisele  had 
witnessed  at  least  part  of  the  ridiculous  scene,  he  prayed 
that  the  earth  would  open  to  swallow  him.  The  ghastly 
moon  that  rose  behind  the  bordj  now  lighted  the  palm 
groves,  the  silvery  waters  and  the  unfathomable  sands. 
They  were  still  in  the  mighty  shadow  the  cliff  threw  across 
the  ravine;  but  there  was  light  enough  to  enable  them  to 
see  each  other's  faces.  At  this  moment  that  of  Gisele 
was  the  only  one  to  show  mirth.  Djeilma  was  defiant; 
and  the  painter,  stock-still  and  open-mouthed,  was  the 
picture  of  amazement  and  dismay,  on  the  whole  a  sorry 
sight. 

He  did  not  attempt  to  explain.  Not  knowing  how 
Gisele  would  interpret  the  scene,  he  thought  it  was  better 
to  wait  for  developments.  If  she  had  heard  the  end  of 
their  conversation,  explanations  were  useless;  if  she  had 
not,  he  could  not  very  well  load  Djeilma  with  the  whole 
responsibility  without  even  waiting  until  she  had  turned  her 
back. 

He  plainly  expected  that  the  Circassian  would  retreat. 
But  Djeilma  was  a  daughter  of  valiant  clansmen  accus- 
tomed to  die  fighting.  She  instantly  decided  upon  the 
offensive. 

"Send  that  woman  away!"  she  ordered.     "It  is  not 


A   RUMl'S   THOUGHTS  173 

proper  that  insane  people  should  interfere,  .  .  .  Wait! 
I  will  take  her  back  myself." 

She  had  already  taken  two  steps  forward  with  an  intent 
which,  considering  the  state  of  her  temper,  might  have 
been  less  innocent  than  her  words  when  Leyton  caught 
her  by  the  wrist. 

"  It  is  not  proper  that  insane  people  should  be  interfered 
with,"  he  said  sternly.  "Allah  speaks  with  the  lips  of  the 
maboul;  therefore  they  should  go  unrestrained.  All  sane 
people  know  that." 

He  let  go  as  he  finished  the  sentence.  Dje'ilma,  flushed 
with  uncontrolled  fury,  had  stamped  her  foot  and  wrenched 
her  wrist  free  by  biting  him.  He  caught  the  flash  of  a 
naked  blade.  Instantly  stepping  in  front  of  Gisele,  he 
covered  the  Circassian  with  his  revolver. 

"Thou  art  a  snake  and  nothing  more,"  he  said.  "This 
is  enough.  Go  back  to  the  bassour!  Go  back  or  I  shall 
tell  Sidi-Malik.  Perhaps  he  will  not  relish  the  thought  of 
being  murdered  during  his  sleep." 

Djeilma  threw  the  knife  with  such  accuracy  that  he  had 
to  dodge  to  avoid  being  punctured  in  the  shoulder. 

"Allah  Kerim!"  she  cried.  "Tell  him!  What  do  I 
care?  Sidi-Malik  shall  die  and  his  belongings  shall  be 
mine.  As  for  thee  and  that  woman,  I  shall  see  what  I  can 
devise;  but  I  shall  be  repaid  for  this  insult  if  Bou-Amel  is 
still  alive  and  if  Ben-Aissa  has  not  forgotten  the  lashes  Sidi- 
Malik  gave  him.  The  curse  of  Si-Abdul-Ghazwani  be  on 
the  mother  of  thy  children,  Sidi  Leitoun.  See!  Over  my 
right  shoulder  do  I  spit.  Their  names  are  Ben-Hamara — 
her  offspring — and  Beni-Kelb — thine  own.  I  have  not 
enough  time  for  all  the  names  of  thine  own  mother." 


174       IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

Whereupon  she  faced  about  and  ran.  When  Leyton, 
realizing  all  that  the  threat  implied,  started  in  pursuit,  she 
had  already  disappeared  beyond  the  tall  reeds  that  over- 
grew the  banks  of  the  nearest  canal. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  PREY  THE  OASIS  SENDS  TO  THE  DESERT 

"Not  that  way,  Ben-Aissa!  Did  not  the  woman  say 
they  were  going  to  Figuig?  We  will  find  them  close  to 
the  well  of  Ain-el-Hamam." 

The  first  horseman  swerved  so  sharply  that  he  pushed 
d'Ornano  against  the  wall.  The  Corsican's  first  impulse 
was  to  draw  his  revolver,  but  seeing  the  number  of  the 
party  he  desisted.  The  rapid  scene  had  taken  place  under 
the  city  gates.  The  Ouled-Ougouni  had  caught  up  with 
him  as  he  was  leaving  the  town  to  join  his  friends. 

He  had  recognized  the  voice  of  Mustapha,  son  of  Sheikh 
Muhamed.  The  name  of  Ben-Aissa,  coupled  to  a  refer- 
ence to  the  direction  the  caravan  intended  to  take,  filled 
him  at  once  with  the  suspicion  that  Djeilma  was  not  a 
stranger  to  the  affair.  In  all  likelihood,  Ben-Aissa  and 
his  companions,  all  of  them  ardent  admirers  of  the  Circas- 
sian, had  begun  investigations  as  soon  as  she  had  been 
missed.  It  had  taken  them  but  a  short  time  to  search  all 
caravanseries  in  Igli  and  reach  the  conclusion  that  the 
caravan  had  left  the  town.     The  Corsican  began  to  run. 

He  knew  that  neither  Sidi-Malik  nor  Anoun-Dialo  had 

yet  had  time  to  complete  their  purchases;    and  Leyton, 

alone  with  the  women,  was  no  match  for  a  dozen  horsemen. 

175 


176        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

The  anai'a,  protecting  the  travellers  against  the  covetous- 
ness  of  their  hosts,  had  become  void  the  minute  the  caravan 
had  set  foot  within  the  walls  of  the  ksar.  Ben-A'issa  had 
wrongs  to  avenge  on  Sidi-Malik.  The  fact  that  Mustapha 
accompanied  his  cousin  warranted  the  suspicion  that 
Sheikh  Muhamed  was  a  party  to  the  undertaking.  The 
Corsican  hurried  forward  as  fast  as  he  could  run,  fearing 
lest  he  should  join  Leyton  too  late  to  prevent  a  disaster. 

The  only  hope  he  dared  entertain  he  derived  from  the 
fact  that  the  caravan  had  not  stopped  in  the  vicinity  of 
Ain-el-Hamam,  as  the  would-be  raiders  had  been  led  to 
suppose.  If  he  could  but  reach  the  halting-place  before 
them,  he  might  yet,  with  Leyton's  help,  succeed  in  effecting 
their  flight.  But  this  course  was  not  without  its  danger, 
since  Sidi-Malik  and  Anoun-Dialo,  in  their  search  for  the 
missing  caravan,  would  run  the  risk  of  being  intercepted 
by  the  raiders. 

He  was  trying  to  solve  the  difficulty,  when  the  sight  of  a 
white  object  ahead  caused  him  to  slow  down.  He  stopped, 
wondering  whether  it  was  not  a  haik  drying  on  a  bush  by 
the  river-side.  Then  the  thought  struck  him  that  he  had 
perhaps  come  unaware  upon  a  lone  sentinel  posted  here 
by  the  Ouled-Ougouni  to  report  the  movements  of  all 
parties.  The  object  was  motionless.  But  as  he  hesitated 
the  mysterious  piece  of  linen  made  a  sudden  movement  and 
disappeared  with  a  sound  resembling  the  flapping  of 
wings.  It  was  a  woman.  Startled,  d'Ornano  sought  cover, 
feeling  sure,  however,  that  the  woman  had  not  observed 
him  and  that  there  was  another  reason  for  her  sudden 
flight.  As  he  did  so,  the  erratic  being  he  had  already 
likened    to  a  will-o'-the-wisp  issued    from   the   bushes, 


THE   PREY   OF  THE  DESERT  177 

crossed  at  a  run  a  moonlit  area  and  again  disappeared 
behind  the  corner  of  a  low  wall.  The  reason  for  her 
flight  became  plain  to  the  Corsican  when  he  saw  a  man 
issue  from  the  river-bed  and  examine  with  great  care  the 
immediate  surroundings.  Obviously,  this  new  actor  was 
non-plussed  as  to  the  direction  the  fugitive  had  taken.  The 
realization  that  Djeilma  had  escaped  and  that  Ley  ton  was 
in  pursuit  flashed  like  lightning  through  d'Ornano's 
mind.  Before  he  had  time  to  decide  upon  a  course  of 
action,  he  heard  a  shriek. 

"  Ya,  Ben- Ai'ssa,  look  there!  .  .  .  Take  him,  Inshallah ! 
Take  him !" 

Half  a  dozen  horsemen  were  climbing  the  bank.  D'Or- 
nano  heard  a  shot.  Other  horsemen  appeared.  Again 
he  heard  Djeilma's  voice. 

"Who  was  shot,  Mustapha  ?  .  .  .  Khadour!  .  .  .  Then 
I  care  not.     But  see  that  Sidi  Leitoun  is  not  hurt!" 

She  added  immediately: 

"Leave  the  Frenchwoman  alone!  She  cannot  escape 
without  help,  and  I  would  be  there  when  she  is  captured. 
Tell  the  men  to  scatter  and  we  will  get  them  all.  Sidi- 
Malik,  Anoun-Dialo  and  Sidi  d'Ornano  did  not  come 
back." 

The  Corsican  did  not  wait  to  hear  more.  Gisele  was 
alone,  in  more  urgent  danger  than  Ley  ton.  Indeed,  the 
artist  seemed  to  have  fallen  into  excellent  hands.  D'Ornano 
faced  about,  crawled  under  a  bush,  jumped  a  wall  and  ran 
for  the  caravan. 

He  found  Gisele  alone  and  thoroughly  frightened.  For 
half  an  hour  she  had  been  intently  listening  to  all  the 
whispers  of  silence,  anxiously  waiting  to  hear  the  foot- 


178        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

steps  of  her  cousin.  The  moon  was  up.  The  caravan 
bathed  in  its  frigid  beams.  The  shadow  of  the  bordj  had 
receded  as  the  satellite  shot  upwards  in  the  turquoise  of 
a  pale  sky. 

This  bordj  was  the  threat  hanging  over  the  desert  and 
hushing  all  noises  into  silence.  Above  it  the  cupola  of 
Sidi-Ziggurt's  kuba  glimmered  like  molten  silver.  Bou- 
Amel,  barefoot,  his  white  gandourah  studded  with  knives, 
was  praying  there,  kneeling  for  inspiration  over  the  onyx 
tombstone  of  his  formidable  great-grandfather.  The 
distant  chirruping  of  a  fife  spanned  the  distance.  The 
single  note  of  a  love-sick  toad,  repeated  at  intervals,  served 
only  to  emphasize  the  silence,  the  immutable  stillness  of 
sands  and  sky.  The  waves  of  evercoming  darkness, 
blue  transparencies  of  enormous  depth  rolled  by,  await- 
ing the  prey  the  oasis  would  send  to  the  desert.  This 
silken  veil  hanging  outside,  this  net  spread  around  Igli 
like  a  spider's  web,  was  more  dreadful  in  its  stillness 
than  black  waters.  Gisele  felt  that  she  was  at  sea,  be- 
calmed, but  aware  that  the  storm  was  gathering.  The 
whole  world  was  now  that  lighted  cliff,  a  slumbering 
village  grimly  attempting  to  keep  its  hold  on  the  crevices 
of  a  bleak  wall,  a  few  palms  of  a  silvery  gray  that  not  even 
a  breath  of  air  disturbed,  and  a  cock-eyed  Chinese  moon, 
pasted  on  a  turquoise  mantle — only  that  and  a  mist  of 
settling  dust.  Such  was  her  feeling  of  anxiousness  that 
the  unheralded  reappearance  of  d'Ornano  drew  from  her 
a  nervous  scream  of  terror. 

"Who  is  this?"  she  exclaimed.  "You,  Monsieur 
d'Ornano!  .  .  .  What  has  happened  ?  Where  is  George  ? 
What  was  that  shot?" 


THE   PREY  OF  THE  DESERT  179 

The  Corsican  was  already  busy  untying  the  camels.  He 
stated  briefly  that  Leyton  was  a  prisoner,  and  that  they 
must  prepare  for  immediate  flight.  His  disinclination  to 
enter  into  any  further  explanation  at  this  time  was  so 
obvious  that  questions  died  on  her  lips.  She  entered 
the  bassour.     He  made  the  animal  get  up. 

They  had  just  started  when  they  heard  the  noise  of 
hoofs.  D'Ornano  turned  his  head  just  in  time  to  see 
Anoun-Dialo  emerge  from  the  bushes,  swerving  sharply  to 
the  left  to  avoid  the  blow  aimed  by  a  horseman.  He  heard 
the  negro  yell : 

"Shoot,  Sidi!    Shoot!" 

But  there  was  no  need  for  shooting.  Realizing  that 
help  would  come  too  late,  Anoun-Dialo  had  checked  his 
momentum  so  abruptly  that  it  was  the  fist  of  the  horseman 
instead  of  the  blade  which  descended  on  his  shoulder. 
There  was  an  attempt  on  the  negro's  part  to  catch  the 
horse's  leg.  In  a  flash  the  horseman  was  in  the  dust,  with 
the  animal  on  top. 

D'Ornano,  who  heard  distinctly  a  cracking  of  bones,  was 
struck  dumb  by  so  extraordinary  an  instance  of  power. 
The  Senegalese  caught  Sidi-Malik's  mehari  by  the  nose- 
ring.    Smiling  beatifically,  he  raised  himself  to  the  saddle. 

"I  stronger  than  horse,  Akh  Arbi!"  he  declared.  "But 
him  son  of  a  Jew  is  followed  by  other  dogs.  Let  us  go 
fissa  bezef." 

"Go  where?"  d'Ornano  inquired.  "We  must  wait  for 
Sidi-Malik.     Where  didst  thou  leave  him  ?" 

Anoun-Dialo  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"By  this  time  him  pretty  near  as  good  as  dead,  Bis- 
millah!"  he  answered.     "The  Ouled-Ougouni  catch  him. 


180        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

Him  now  going  to  Bou-Amel,  who  pretty  soon  salts  his 
hands  or  cuts  his  throat.''  His  sigh  corrected  the  irrever- 
ence of  a  hideous  gesture.  "Or  perchance  he  escapes, 
who  knows?  Him  very  tricky,  Sidi.  He  says,  'Anoun, 
go  to  Sidi  d'Ornano  fissa  fissa,  Jehanum  ke  marfik.  Tell 
him  go  to  Figuig.  Then  he  send  the  Ouled-Sidi- 
Sheikhs  of  Si-Hamza  to  buy  me  back. " 

At  the  second  part  of  Sidi-Malik's  message  d'Ornano 
gave  vent  to  a  sigh  of  relief.  He  had  felt  all  the  misery  of 
the  man  wedged  between  contrary  duties.  The  thought  of 
abandoning  Leyton  and  Sidi-Malik  to  their  fate  was  un- 
palatable in  the  extreme.  And  yet  he  was  powerless  to 
help  them.  An  immediate  attempt  to  effect  their  rescue 
might  involve,  besides  his  own  capture,  that  of  Mile,  de 
Diolie  and  of  important  papers.  It  might  mean  the  con- 
fiscation of  Sidi-Malik's  wealth,  the  sole  means  to  secure 
the  freedom  of  its  owner.  It  were  better  to  make  straight 
for  Figuig  and  open  negotiations  through  the  mediation 
of  native  chiefs. 

Djeilma's  intentions  were  plain  to  him.  She  would  join 
the  crowd  of  women  following  the  harka  of  Bou-Amel. 
If  Leyton  ran  a  risk  in  her  company,  it  was  not  that  of  his 
life,  assuredly.  She  could  be  trusted  to  do  all  in  her  power 
to  protect  him.  There  was  no  question  that,  in  so  far  as 
the  American  was  concerned,  the  Ouled-Ougouni  would 
defer  to  her  wishes,  at  least  temporarily;  and  Leyton,  good 
fellow  at  all  times,  had  a  knack  of  his  own  for  making 
friends.  But  it  was  to  be  feared  that  things  would  go 
harder  with  Sidi-Malik.  Through  Djeilma,  who  had  no 
reason  for  sparing  him,  Bou-Amel  was  sure  to  learn  of 
the  presence  in  Igli  of  the  scout  who  had  been  instrumen- 


THE  PREY  OF  THE  DESERT         181 

tal  in  leading  d'Ornano's  column  back  to  the  coast. 
The  Circassian  would  not  omit  to  say  that  he  was  a  spy 
sent  by  the  French  to  ascertain  the  strength  of  the 
Saharan  contingents.  She  knew  that  Sidi-Malik  had 
been  connected  with  the  attempt  to  kidnap  Abd-er-Rhaman, 
and  she  possessed  information  of  a  nature  to  convict  him 
of  having  betrayed  the  secrecy  of  Senussi  meetings. 
Furthermore,  she  could  accuse  him  of  the  crime  of  having 
enriched  himself  with  the  spoils  of  Marakesh  without  pay- 
ing the  fifth  due  the  Sultan  on  all  plunder. 

The  certainty  that  he  could  make  no  immediate  attempt 
to  save  the  camel-driver  from  being  handed  over  to  the 
chaouch  served  only  to  strengthen  d'Ornano's  determina- 
tion to  move  forward  at  top  speed.  Cupidity  and  the 
desire  for  revenge  would  urge  Bou-Amel  to  put  on  his  trail 
a  body  of  mehari  riders.  Not  a  moment  was  to  be  lost; 
and  since  the  scarcity  of  water,  in  the  regions  they  were 
to  cross,  and  the  long  distances  between  wells,  rendered  a 
swerving  from  the  beaten  track  so  dangerous  an  adventure 
as  to  be  altogether  out  of  the  question,  swiftness  had  be- 
come their  only  hope  of   escape. 

In  Figuig  he  would  intrust  to  his  friend  Si-Hamza,  a 
schoolmate  of  Algiers'  Lycee  and  of  Saint-Cyr's  Military 
Academy,  who,  by  the  recent  death  of  his  father,  had  be- 
come chieftain  of  the  powerful  tribe  of  the  Ouled-Sidi- 
Sheiks,  the  business  of  negotiating  Leyton's  and  Sidi- 
Malik's  ransom.  The  course  of  action  suggested  by  the 
camel-driver  was  by  far  the  best.  There  was,  it  is 
true,  a  possibility  that  intervention  would  come  too  late; 
but  an  immediate  attempt  carried  with  it  so  little  probabil- 
ity of  success  that  the  trial  would  merely  be  foolhardiness. 


182        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE    GREEN   BANNER 

Moreover,  there  were  other  interests  to  safeguard.  He 
could  not  put  in  jeopardy  the  life  and  honor  of  Gisele, 
nor  overlook  the  fact  that,  so  long  as  General  de  Diolie's 
papers  were  in  his  possession,  he  was  a  soldier  under 
orders. 

That  night  and  the  whole  of  the  next  day  the  caravan 
succeeded  in  covering  sixty-five  miles.  This  accomplished, 
they  had  to  stop.  Although  the  pack-camels  were  travel- 
ling light,  sixty-five  miles  in  twenty  hours  was  as  much  as 
could  be  expected  from  their  endurance.  Human  beings 
were  as  tired  as  the  beasts.  Although,  at  Anoun-Dialo's 
suggestion,  d'Ornano  had  put  on  two  belts,  one  tight 
around  the  loins,  the  other  tighter  around  the  thorax, 
immediately  below  the  armpits,  he  felt  as  if  every  bone  in 
his  body  was  broken  and  as  if  at  each  jolt  of  the  mehari 
his  spine  was  penetrating  his  skull.  Considering  the  con- 
dition in  which  he,  a  man  accustomed  to  hardships,  found 
himself,  he  dreaded  to  think  of  Gisele.  The  young  woman 
was  assisted  out  of  the  bassour  complaining  of  a  rending 
headache  and  of  acute  sea-sickness.  The  Corsican  did  not 
even  attempt  to  comfort  her.  This  was  a  case  when  they 
had  to  choose  between  flight  and  slavery,  between  fatigue 
and  the  ugliest  of  torments;  perhaps  between  life  and 
death.  They  would  now  rest  six  hours  and  resume  their 
flight.  In  another  twenty-four  hours  they  might  perhaps 
see  their  way  to  slacken  their  speed.  Meanwhile  they 
were  to  look  upon  suffering  and  weariness  as  upon  neces- 
sary evils. 

Anoun-Dialo,  hardened  to  the  mehari's  motion  to  the 
extent  of  being  able  to  sleep  in  the  saddle,  was  willing  to 
assume  the  task  of  keeping  watch  for  the  night.     D'Ornano 


THE  PREY  OF  THE  DESERT         183 

was  thus  enabled  to  sleep  the  full  six  hours.  Nevertheless, 
when,  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  the  negro  came  to  tell 
him  that  the  mehara  were  loaded  and  that  everything  was 
ready  for  departure,  he  felt  so  imperfectly  rested  that  it  was 
with  an  effort  he  summoned  the  courage  to  stand  and  try 
the  strength  of  his  weary  limbs.  Once  in  the  saddle,  how- 
ever, he  soon  recovered  his  customary  suppleness.  The 
keen  atmosphere  of  the  small  hours  braced  him.  It  was 
freezing  cold,  the  temperature  having  fallen  below  28°  F. 
But,  some  six  hours  later,  he  noticed  that  it  was  already 
105°  in  the  shade;  and  the  prospect  of  a  further  climb  of 
20°  before  noon  was  one  well  calculated  to  throw  him  into 
despair. 

Travelling  between  eleven  and  three  o'clock  had  never 
been  compulsory  before;  and  he  soon  came  to  regard  the 
suffering  born  of  the  mid-day  heat  as  positively  excruciating. 
Before  noon,  however,  he  sank  into  a  sort  of  lethargy  from 
which  he  derived  some  alleviation  of  misery.  He  was  be- 
coming accustomed  to  the  fearful  pace,  and  he  vaguely 
understood  that  in  another  day  or  so  he  would  be  able  to 
sleep  in  the  saddle.  Gradually  he  sank  into  deeper 
slumber.  He  had  lost  all  notion  of  time  and  location, 
when  he  suddenly  felt  that  his  camel  stopped  and  sank  to 
its  knees. 

The  jolt  awoke  him.  To  his  intense  surprise,  he  saw 
that  not  only  the  whole  caravan  had  stopped,  but  that 
Anoun-Dialo  was  already  busily  engaged  in  a  familiar 
operation.  He  rummaged  through  the  load  of  one  of  the 
camels  and  took  from  it  the  tent  stakes.  Forcing  the 
animals  to  lie  on  their  sides,  he  bound  them  in  such  a 
position  that  they  could  not  stir.     Then  he  gagged  them 


184        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GKEEN  BANNER 

securely.  All  this  was  accomplished  by  the  negro  with 
such  speed  that  d'  Ornano  saw  him  turn  his  attention  to 
his  rifle  before  he  had  himself  fully  recovered  from  his 
astonishment. 

But  the  sight  of  the  negro  looking  into  the  magazine  of 
his  gun  completely  awoke  the  Corsican.  Sure  now  that 
there  was  danger  ahead,  he  seized  his  own  weapons  and 
proceeded  to  verify  their  contents.  He  joined  Anoun- 
Dialo  just  as  Gisele,  who  had  managed  to  crawl  out  of  the 
bassour,  whose  curtains  had  been  tied  together  on  the 
outside,  stood  erect. 

He  promptly  motioned  her  to  lie  flat.  The  halt  had  been 
made  in  a  gully.  From  the  bottom  of  this  hole  they  could 
see  scarcely  a  hundred  feet  ahead,  but  a  better  place  of 
concealment  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  find.  In  a 
flash,  d'Ornano  understood  the  situation.  They  were  not 
pursued — concealment  would  then  have  been  useless,  since 
they  could  not  obliterate  the  tracks  left  by  the  camels — but 
the  animals  had  been  gagged  to  secure  silence.  Evidently, 
to  the  north  of  them,  some  caravan  bound  for  Tafilelt 
was  passing. 

In  the  wake  of  Anoun-Dialo,  he  crawled  slowly  to  the 
top  of  an  eminence.  In  two  minutes  he  reached  a  spot 
from  which  he  could  get  a  good  view  of  the  surrounding 
stretch  of  country.  A  little  to  the  right  he  then  perceived  a 
cloud  of  dust. 

For  nearly  two  hours  they  remained  quiet.  The  caravan 
approached  slowly  and  passed  them.  It  was  not  a  convoy 
of  traders,  a  column  of  soldiers  or  even  a  migrating  tribe. 
They  were  smuggling  Chambaa  escorting  into  Morocco  a 
consignment  of  contraband  weapons  landed  in  Tripoli  by 


THE   PREY  OF  THE   DESERT  185 

a  German  firm  which  chose  to  deliver  by  this  risky  route 
rather  than  run  the  gauntlet  of  the  French  cruisers. 

These  Chambaa  were  dangerous  for  several  reasons. 
The  very  nature  of  the  business  they  were  engaged  upon 
rendered  them  intensely  suspicious.  They  were  French 
subjects  and  knew  only  too  well  what  it  meant  to  have 
their  movements  reported  to  the  Bureau  Arabe.  More- 
over, they  were  now  crossing,  just  before  entering  Morocco, 
the  territory  of  the  Ouled-Sidi-Sheiks,  their  deadly  foes. 
In  war  or  peace,  no  matter  if  the  Frenchman  reigned 
supreme  or  if  both  tribes  followed  Abd-er-Rhaman,  a 
Chambi  head  would  be  both  joy  and  pride  for  an  Ouled- 
Sidi-Sheikh.  The  difficulty  of  the  smugglers'  present 
position  more  than  warranted  d'Ornano's  belief  that  if  his 
own  party  was  discovered,  nothing  would  remain  to  tell 
the  story  of  Chambi  treachery  and  cold-blooded  murder. 
He  had  heard  tales  of  travellers  who,  meeting  through  bad 
luck  with  a  Chambi  caravan,  had  accepted  their  hospitality. 
In  each  case  the  Chambi  had  betrayed  the  guest,  a  crime 
almost  unheard  of  in  other  parts  of  the  Sahara.  Men  had 
been  disembowelled,  tied  to  stakes  and  left  to  die  simply 
because  they  had  seen  too  much.  He  knew  that  these 
smugglers  were  fiends  of  the  worst  species,  arch-traitors 
who  come  with  a  smile  and  with  hands  upheld  for  the  pur- 
pose of  knifing  a  man  as  soon  as  he  lowers  his  gun.  With 
Arabs  like  these,  the  best  policy  was  to  shoot  at  sight.  He 
instantly  resolved  upon  his  course.  If  they  were  discovered 
he  would  shoot  as  many  men  as  he  had  bullets  in  the 
magazine  of  his  rifle,  then  turn  his  revolver  against  Gisele 
and  himself.  Fortunately,  the  necessity  for  carrying  out 
this  resolution  did  not  arise.     The  wind  was  blowing  from 


186        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

the  north.  Their  own  beasts  were  gagged  and  helpless, 
and  the  pack-animals  of  the  smugglers  could  not  smell  other 
camels  and  arouse  suspicion  by  neighing.  The  Chambaa 
at  last  disappeared  and  Anoun-Dialo  stood  up. 

When  d'Ornano  followed  his  example,  he  noticed  that 
the  giant,  his  enormous  palm  protecting  his  eyes,  was 
intently  looking,  not  towards  the  caravan,  but  towards  a 
point  apparently  further  south.  He  looked  also,  but  in 
vain.  The  glare  of  the  sunlit  waste  was  scarcely  bearable. 
This  tremendous  light  had,  moreover,  greatly  impaired  his 
sight  in  the  course  of  the  past  month.  His  eyes,  larger  than 
those  of  the  Saharans,  lacked  the  protection  afforded  by 
the  shaggy  eyebrows  and  the  long  lashes  which  are  such 
distinctive  features  of  the  dwellers  of  the  sands.  Conges- 
tion of  the  bloodvessels  had  been  followed  by  inflammation, 
and  opthalmia,  the  commonest  of  Saharan  diseases, 
threatened  him.  He  saw  nothing;  but  he  heard  Anoun- 
Dialo  exclaim  sharply  that  pursuers  were  in  sight. 

"Who  are  they?"  he  inquired. 

"The  veiled  people  of  the  lance,  Bismillah!  Ait- 
Litzam!" 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  VEILED   PEOPLE   OF  THE   LANCE 

The  Forsaken  of  God !  The  Corsican  bit  his  lip.  This 
was  the  foe  he  had  so  often  met  and  defeated  on  his  return 
journey  from  Ouadai.  Anoun-Dialo  had  been  a  prisoner 
of  the  Tuaregg;  he  had  fought  them  in  several  encounters, 
and  he  could  be  trusted  not  to  mistake  them  for  Trarza, 
Tibbus,  Chambaa  or  Ouled-Sidi-Sheiks.  With  a  long- 
winded  curse  which  consigned  to  destruction  Bou-Amel, 
Abd-er-Rhaman,  Ben-Ai'ssa  and  an  incredible  number  of 
females,  Djeilma  not  excepted,  the  Senegalese  explained 
that  their  tracks  would  soon  be  discovered.  The  Tuaregg 
would  learn  from  the  Chambaa  that  they  had  not  seen  the 
fugitives  and  would  conclude  that  the  prey  was  not  far  off. 
D'Ornano  ordered  an  immediate  departure.  They  had 
still  four  hours  of  light  before  sundown.  This  was  enough 
to  ascertain  who  would  win  in  a  speed  contest. 

It  was  scarcely  probable  that  the  Tuaregg  had  seen  them, 
concealed  as  they  were  in  this  gully.  The  path  they  were 
now  to  follow  wound  its  way  through  a  dry  valley  where 
turns  were  so  numerous  that  for  a  long  time  yet  they  would 
be  able  to  keep  out  of  sight.  They  were  again  about  to 
leave  the  sand-dunes  of  the  Erg  for  the  stony  table-land  of 
the  Hamadan,  making,  as  straight  as  the  ground  permitted, 
for  the  lone  well  of  Zushir-Meg.  But  the  Tuaregg,  if  not 
already  on  their  tracks,  would  surely  come  across  them 

187 


188        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

before  reaching  the  caravan  of  the  smugglers.  They  would 
apply  to  them  for  information  and  would  learn  that  the 
fugitives  had  not  been  met  up  to  the  time  the  Chambaa 
had  left  the  defile  leading  to  the  well  The  only  hope  of 
escape  arose  from  the  excellent  condition  of  the  camels. 
They  had  not  travelled  as  fast  as  those  of  the  foe  and  had 
just  been  granted  a  rest  of  two  hours.  Still,  mehara  that 
could  cover  the  distance  now  separating  the  fugitives  from 
Igli  in  so  short  a  time  must  of  necessity  be  animals  of  the 
finest  breed.  The  Tuaregg  would  win,  unless  d'Ornano 
proved  the  better  pilot  and  saw  his  way  to  profit  by  the 
night's  darkness  to  outwit  the  leader  of  the  pursuing  col- 
umn. This  leader  was  evidently  an  Arab  of  some  sort;  at 
the  worst  a  Berber  camel-driver.  In  this  part  of  the  Sahara 
the  Tuaregg  were  in  foreign  land,  and  were  bound  to  rely 
on  the  topographical  knowledge  of  outsiders.  If  this 
guide  came  from  Tafilelt,  the  Corsican,  who  knew  every 
inch  of  ground  between  Igli  and  Figuig,  might  win.  But 
if  he  turned  out  to  be  an  Ouled-Sidi-Sheikh,  a  Chambi 
or  an  Ouled-Ougouni,  they  were  lost. 

It  was  not  until  sunset  that  he  was  compelled  to  acknowl- 
edge defeat.  Vainly,  by  using  short  cuts,  he  attempted  to 
increase  the  distance  separating  his  friends  and  himself 
from  the  pursuers.  The  Tuaregg  followed  without  a  fault, 
gaining  little,  it  is  true,  but  furnishing  ample  evidence  that 
their  mehara  were  flawless  animals.  Nothing  short  of  a 
simoom  could  now  give  the  fugitives  a  chance  of  escape. 
Indeed,  Anoun-Dialo  had  detected,  in  the  extraordinary 
rise  of  temperature  between  twelve  and  two  o'clock,  the 
forerunning  signs  of  an  approaching  sand-storm.  But  the 
simoom  might  delay  its  coming  for  thirty-six  hours;   and 


THE   VEILED  PEOPLE   OF  THE   LANCE  189 

even  if  it  came  before,  the  remedy  might  prove  worse  than 
the  evil.  Gisele's  and  d'Ornano's  mehara  were  the  only 
two  that  could  keep  up  with  this  fearful  pace.  The  other 
animals  were  tired  and  would  stop  of  their  own  accord  in 
five  hours  at  the  most.  They  might  go  on  a  little  longer  if 
they  smelled  water  before  that  time;  but  then  they  were 
sure  to  overdrink. 

Night  fell.  Gisele  was  so  stupefied  with  fatigue  that 
she  was  not  even  aware  of  the  danger  in  their  rear.  Be- 
tween eight  and  nine  o'clock  Anoun-Dialo  asked  d'Ornano 
whether  they  were  to  surrender  or  fight.  In  any  case  they 
had  to  stop.  The  camel  which  carried  the  heaviest  load 
was  lame.  The  two  animals  that  carried  Sidi-Malik's 
fortune  and  the  camping  outfit  were  little  better  off.  The 
Corsican  replied  that  they  would  go  on  until  all  animals 
had  fallen.  Thereupon  the  negro  bent  sideways  and,  with 
a  single  stroke  of  his  flissa,  cut  the  throat  of  the  straggler. 
The  beast  fell  with  a  thump.  They  went  on  for  another  hour. 

At  the  end  of  that  time,  Anoun-Dialo  repeated  the  opera- 
tion on  two  other  pack-animals.  Twenty  minutes  went 
by.  Then  the  mehari  which  carried  Sidi-Malik's  property 
fell.  The  sacrifice  of  the  baggage  had  divided  the  foe. 
No  more  than  fifteen  men  now  pursued  them.  But  these 
possessed  the  best  mehara;  and  the  distance  separating  the 
two  troops  had  considerably  decreased.  Gisele's  and 
Anoun-Dialo's  camels  were  in  a  pitiable  condition.  Both 
were  ceaselessly  grunting  and  attempting  to  bite,  sure  signs 
that  the  time  was  now  near  when  they  would  refuse  serv- 
ice altogether.  Suddenly,  as  they  were  climbing  a  steep 
slope,  Anoun-Dialo's  beast  stumbled  and  fell. 

When  a  camel  slips  he  sprains  his  muscles  and  is  done 


190        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

for.  D'Ornano  instantly  slowed  down.  He  heard  Anoun- 
Dialo  call  out: 

"Go,  Sidi!  Only  thou  and  the  woman  can  escape. 
With  Allah's  help,  Anoun-Dialo  stop  three  Ait-Litzam. 
Maybe  more.  I  shall  kill  camels.  ...  Go  with  Allah! 
Mehara  soon  smell  water  and  go  fissa  bezef." 

"And  what  will  be  thy  fate  if  thou  art  delivered  to  Bou- 
Amel?"  asked  the  Corsican. 

"Hands  in  the  salt,  like  Sidi-Malik,"  came  the  reply. 
"Anoun-Dialo  betrayed  Senussiya,  remember." 

D'Ornano  shivered.  Moghrabi  justice  is  summary  and 
retributive.  He  knew  that  the  thief  loses  his  hands,  the 
calumniator  and  false  witness  his  tongue,  the  runaway 
wife  has  her  tibias  broken  with  clubs,  the  sacrilegious,  rebel 
or  apostate  suffer  the  punishment  of  salt  and  die  a  horrible 
death.     He  hesitated.     Anoun-Dialo  called  again. 

"  Go,  Sidi.  Thou  knowest  desert  best.  Send  the  Ouled- 
Sidi-Sheiks  of  Si-Hamza." 

D'Ornano  stimulated  his  mehari.  Turning  in  the  sad- 
dle, he  saw  the  giant  attempt,  without  success,  to  make  his 
animal  rise.  Then  darkness  came  between  them.  Two 
minutes  later  he  heard  a  shot. 

He  turned  again,  just  in  time  to  catch  another  flash  from 
the  rifle.  Anoun-Dialo  fired  a  third  time.  Then  all  was 
still. 

They  went  on  for  ten  minutes  more.  Gisele's  camel 
sank  to  his  knees. 

This  was  the  last  blow.  D'Ornano  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders ready  to  give  up  the  fight.  He  knew  very  well  that 
if  he  allowed  his  own  mehari  a  rest  at  this  stage,  the  animal 
would  lie  down  never  to  rise  again.     He  stopped,  neverthe- 


THE   VEILED   PEOPLE   OF   THE    LANCE  191 

less,  grasped  his  rifle,  dismounted  and  ran  to  his  com- 
panion.    The  young  woman  was  sleeping. 

A  moment  the  Corsican  remained  bent  over  her,  holding 
with  both  hands  the  curtains  of  the  bassour.  She  had 
slept  several  hours,  perhaps,  and  so  soundly  that  she  had 
not  heard  the  shots  of  Anoun-Dialo,  had  not  even  felt  that 
her  camel  was  stopping.  He  reflected  that  it  had  better 
be  so.  To  the  end  she  would  remain  unaware  that  she 
had  come  to  the  dark  gate.  Slowly,  but  deliberately, 
the  Corsican  drew  his  revolver  and  cocked  it. 

And  still  she  slept,  her  head  reposing  on  her  extended 
arm,  her  face  half  hidden  in  the  rebellious  curls  which  the 
scarlet  lips  blew  aside  at  each  expiration  of  her  regular 
breathing.  She  had  discarded  the  veil  and  lay  in  the 
native  garb,  bare-armed  and  barefoot,  tiny  silver  m'sai's 
encircling  her  ankles,  sculptural  in  the  tight-fitting  bolero 
of  scarlet  and  the  Turkish  shintiyan  of  green  silk. 

Had  she  been  mere  marble  there  is  no  question  that  the 
Corsican  would  have  smashed  without  a  tremor  the  work 
of  a  Praxiteles.  She  lived,  and  despite  the  lack  of  imagina- 
tion that  made  him  a  man  of  action,  he  pictured  clearly  to 
himself  the  stream  of  blood  flowing  from  those  temples, 
the  wild  look  of  animal  death  in  the  instantly  revulsed  eyes, 
the  convulsive  gaping  of  this  throat  whose  cream  was  now 
dyed  with  a  velvety  pink  flush. 

And  yet  they  could  not  stay  here.  The  revolver  went 
back  to  his  belt  and  he  turned  on  his  heel,  his  glance  lost 
among  the  stars.  Outside,  nature  was  indifferent  and 
splendid.  He  reflected  that  life  is  cheap  and  that  the  spark 
he  had  not  the  courage  to  extinguish  would  soon  flicker 
and  vanish.     And  this  was  all  he  could  call  friendly  under 


192        IN   THE   WAKE   OF  THE    GREEN   BANNER 

the  enormous  sky!  When  this  would  cease  to  be  he  would 
be  truly  alone.  Alone  for  only  a  second,  perhaps;  but  he 
would  sink  into  the  void  filled  with  the  horror  of  his  loneli- 
ness, haunted  by  the  flight  of  this  little  soul  across  the 
ether. 

He  frowned  and  turned  again,  shorn  of  his  power  to 
strike,  choking  in  the  vice-like  grip  of  a  pity  stronger  than 
himself.  The  young  woman  had  moved.  The  thought 
that  she  would  resent  this  intrusion  on  her  sleep  caused  the 
miracle  to  happen.  A  quickened  movement  of  the  heart 
sent  the  blood  beating  against  his  temples.  An  animal 
instinct  of  ownership  and  protection  folded  his  arms 
around  the  sleeping  form.  With  the  stride  and  the  snarl 
of  the  gorilla  Fremiet  shows  us  kidnapping  a  woman,  he 
carried  her  away,  an  unnamed  feeling  of  triumph  and 
brutality  swelling  his  breast. 

Willing  or  not,  this  woman  was  his  and  would  remain 
his  to  the  end,  since  death  would  immediately  befall  them. 
Now  that  he  dared  proclaim  his  ownership,  he  was  almost 
glad  that  the  end  should  come.  He  carried  her  to  his  own 
camel,  not  because  this  was  in  any  way  necessary,  but 
because  he  was  seeking  an  excuse  for  a  movement  which 
had  been  as  irresistible  as  it  was  physical. 

He  laid  her  on  the  sand  behind  the  camel.  Then  kneel- 
ing in  the  protection  of  the  animal,  he  rested  his  rifle  across 
its  body.  He  had  just  completed  his  preparations  when 
two  silhouettes  became  visible,  sharply  delineated  on  a 
back-ground  of  indigo  blue  sprinkled  with  cold  stars. 

He  fired  twice.  One  of  the  silhouettes  instantly  col- 
lapsed and  the  other  slid  gently  to  the  ground.  In  the 
distance  he  heard  shouts. 


THE   VEILED   PEOPLE   OF  THE   LANCE  193 

Awakened  by  the  reports,  Gisele  half  raised  herself. 
She  saw  only  one  camel  when  there  had  been  seven,  one 
man  when  there  had  been  two,  and  darkness  where  there 
had  been  daylight.  The  man  was  d'Ornano.  He  waited 
with  ready  rifle.     An  unspeakable  awe  filled  her  heart. 

A  third  mehari  rider  appeared  to  the  south.  D'Ornano 
fired  on  him,  obliterating  him  from  the  sky. 

He  became  conscious  that  Gisele  was  weeping.  For 
a  minute  this  pitiful,  smothered  sobbing  of  a  child  lost  on 
a  battle-field  disturbed  him. 

The  Tuaregg  were  longer  in  coming  than  he  had  ex- 
pected. As  five  minutes,  ten  minutes  passed  by  without 
bringing  new  developments,  he  inferred  that  they  were 
engaged  either  in  a  discussion  of  the  means  to  be  employed 
in  attempting  his  capture  or  had  already  decided  to  resort 
to  stealth.  They  had  evidently  received  orders  to  capture 
him  alive,  since  no  shot  had  come  in  answer  to  his  firing, 
and  he  had  heard  Anoun-Dialo's  rifle  belch  three  times 
without  echo  on  the  foe's  part.  Trained  to  desert  fighting, 
he  surmised  that  the  Tuaregg  would  attempt  to  approach 
him  unaware  and  would  do  so  crawling.  A  hope  yet 
smouldering  began  to  glow  with  greater  brilliancy  in  the 
inner  recesses  of  his  brain.  At  this  moment  he  heard  a 
frightened  voice,  and  a  small  hand  rested  on  his  shoulder. 

"Where  is  Anoun-Dialo,  Monsieur  d'Ornano?  Where 
are  we  ?    Are  we  going  to  die  ?  " 

The  love  of  life,  coming  back  with  the  new  hope,  impelled 
him  to  take  her  hand.  She  was  kneeling  at  his  side, 
shivering  with  cold,  her  large  eyes  almost  luminous  in  the 
darkness. 

"Listen,"  he  said.    There  is  still  a  way  perhaps,  one 


194        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

very  small  chance.  If  it  fails,  you  must  resign  yourself  to 
the  worst.  Did  I  ever  tell  you  that  your  father's  orders 
were  to  shoot  you  rather  than  let  you  become  a  prisoner  ?  " 

"Yes,"  she  said  very  low. 

"  The  Tuaregg  are  crawling  towards  us.  We  may  foil 
them  by  abandoning  the  camel  and  crawling  ourselves  to 
the  south,  describing  a  semicircle  to  avoid  being  met  half- 
way. Then  God  help  us!  We  may  have  to  walk  all  the 
way  to  Figuig  and  we  may  have  to  die  from  thirst.  Are  you 
willing  to  risk  it?" 

In  what  obscure  way  she  felt  that  the  man  who  had 
carried  her  in  his  arms  and  had  drunk  deep  of  the  abandon 
of  her  pose,  prying  into  the  secret  of  her  sleep,  was  no 
longer  the  man  who,  not  so  long  ago,  reviled  womankind 
with  such  genuine  insolence,  lies  in  woman's  unaccountable 
instinct.  It  was  in  her  flesh  that  she  felt  the  tyranny  of  a 
will  strange  to  herself  and  ignored  half  an  hour  ago;  it 
was  in  her  flesh  that  she  was  aware  of  the  presence  of  a 
being  whose  apparition  disturbed  the  symmetry  of  her 
well-ordained  thoughts.  For  the  first  time  it  was  given 
to  her  to  understand  the  reason  for  the  brutality  of  man. 
She  had  conceived  the  image  and  had  been  revolted  by  the 
hideousness  of  a  creature  a  hundred  thousand  years  old, 
who  set  his  teeth,  declared  "  this  thing  is  mine,"  clubbed  his 
mate  into  submission  and  set  her  digging  for  the  roots  he 
ate  himself  in  sullen  solitude.  But  it  turned  out  that  this 
being  was  perhaps  not  meant  to  be  the  Provider.  He  was 
the  Protector  who  did  the  fighting  when  need  arose.  And 
in  the  face  of  this  evocation  from  a  blood-stained  and  tor- 
mented past,  she  had  not  a  revolt  of  the  spirit,  only  an 
overwhelming  desire  to  buy  protection  from  death  at  the 


THE   VEILED  PEOPLE   OF  THE   LANCE  195 

cost  of  corporeal  surrender.  Perhaps  it  was  a  plea  for 
continued  protection;  perhaps  a  reward.  She  may  have 
felt  that  this  would  be  her  last  chance  of  acknowledging 
a  debt.  Perhaps  the  brutality  of  this  nature  impelled  her 
to  satisfy  the  fleeting  desire  of  the  hour.  It  may  be  that 
she  had  been  brought  to  acknowledge  her  weakness  in  the 
midst  of  such  a  complex  and  powerful  planetary  world, 
and  discovered  that  her  love  was  her  own  only  at  the  minute 
when  it  was  vouchsafed  to  her,  that  this  also  was  eminently 
perishable.  The  crisis  which  stiffens  the  male  animal  into 
an  attitude  of  defence  acts  inversely  on  the  inverse  nature 
of  his  mate  and  draws  forth  all  the  tenderness  of  an  organ- 
ization threatened  before  the  fulfilment  of  its  natural 
mission.  Love,  the  brother  of  death,  does  not  embarrass 
itself  with  conventions  when  the  imprescriptible  instinct  is 
threatened.  What  did  it  matter  if  d'Ornano  had  not 
spoken?  The  bond  between  them  existed  outside  of 
mere  words.     She  drew  nearer  and  offered  her  lips. 

It  remained  for  him  to  prove  that  he  was  worthy  of  her 
trust.  The  cautious  advance  of  the  Tuaregg  was  so  de- 
layed that  time  was  given  them  to  clear  the  moving  line  of 
the  prowlers.  They  did  so  by  the  narrowest  margin, 
however.  Two  or  three  times  d'Ornano  had  to  turn  on 
his  back  to  get  his  bearings  by  the  stars.  His  motion  was 
seriously  hampered  by  his  rifle,  and  his  hands  had  become 
numb  at  the  contact  of  the  ground.  The  stillness  was 
absolute;  the  immensity  of  upper  and  lower  regions 
terrifying.  The  silver  nails  of  firmament  added  to  the 
awfulness  of  Saharan  silence  the  mystery  of  frigid  spaces 
travelled  over  by  a  thousand  suns. 

It  was  luck  that  they  were  lying  quiet,  d'Ornano  on  his 


196        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

back  trying  to  locate  the  polar  star  with  the  help  of  the 
Great  Bear,  when  the  faint  rustle  of  a  snake-like  motion 
made  both  of  them  shiver  at  the  thought  that  some  A'it- 
Litzam  was  slowly  making  for  their  forlorn  camel.  It 
was  luck  which  brought  them  without  a  mishap,  when 
chances  were  ten  to  one  that  they  would  lose  themselves 
among  the  starlit  rocks,  to  the  mehara  of  the  foe.  And  it 
was  luck  also,  the  greatest  of  all,  which  was  responsible 
for  the  fact  that  only  two  men  were  watching  over  Anoun- 
Dialo  and  the  camels. 

There  were  eleven  mehara  there.  No  sooner  had  d'Or- 
nano  realized  his  good  fortune  than  he  pushed  Gisele 
forward  at  top  speed,  running  himself  as  he  had  not  run 
since  the  evening  of  his  flight  from  the  Kutubia.  One 
of  the  guards  he  instantly  shot  down.  The  other  took  to 
his  heels,  fell,  regained  his  feet  and  disappeared,  leaving 
his  rifle  behind  him.  The  Corsican  liberated  Anoun- 
Dialo.  The  giant  was  no  sooner  free  from  ties  than  he 
picked  up  the  lance  of  the  dead  man  and  undertook  a 
promiscuous  slaughter  of  the  mehara,  sparing  only  two  of 
them.     These  they  mounted. 

They  were  being  shot  at.  The  report  of  d'Ornano's 
rifle  had  been  heard  and  the  Tuaregg  were  coming  back 
at  a  run.  Again  the  fugitives  described  a  semicircle, 
the  Corsican  being  above  all  anxious  to  regain  posession  of 
his  papers.  As  soon  as  these  were  secured,  they  resumed 
their  journey  towards  the  well.  Gisele  was  compelled  to 
ride  astride  behind  the  Captain;  but  what  could  not  be 
helped  must  be  endured.  They  had  no  time  to  lose;  and 
the  spent  camel,  by  refusing  to  rise,  prevented  them  from 
transferring  the  bassour  to  one  of  the  captured  animals. 


THE   VEILED   PEOPLE   OF  THE    LANCE  197 

The  outburst  of  yells  which  followed  their  start  served 
only  to  accelerate  their  speed.  The  two  mehara  they  had 
captured  were  fast  and  progressed  with  a  wonderfully 
smooth  motion.  But  they  were  the  wildest  they  had  yet 
seen,  and  the  utmost  vigilance  was  required  to  repel  the  oft- 
repeated  attacks  of  the  serpentine  necks.  This  d'Ornano 
did  with  the  lance  of  the  dead  Ait-Litzam,  and  the  Sene- 
galese with  a  knife  held  between  his  prehensile  toes.  As 
soon  as  he  judged  that  they  were  out  of  range,  the  Cap- 
tain, who  had  kept  away  from  Anoun-Dialo  to  divide  fire 
and  offer  a  smaller  mark,  came  alongside.  He  found  the 
giant  laughing  aloud,  as  only  negroes,  children  and  hys- 
terical women  can  laugh,  his  whole  frame  convulsed  with 
mirth. 

"  Ya  Utah,  Sidi,"  he  ejaculated.  "Now  the  Forsaken 
of  God  they  walk  to  the  well  and  wait  there  for  a  caravan. 
Nothing  to  drink  and  the  hot  sands  burn  their  feet.  Either 
they  starve  or  they  eat  the  flesh  of  tired  camels.  The  flesh 
no  good,  Sidi.  Macash  bono!  It  smells  like  musk  turtle. 
.  .  .  Taieb  kateer,  Akh  Arbi!" 

Undoubtedly,  the  image  he  had  in  mind  of  veiled  figures, 
Ait-Litzam  clad  in  blue  tramping  the  hot  sands,  a  lance 
in  the  right  hand  and  a  portion  of  camel  on  the  shoulder, 
filled  his  black  soul  with  the  purest  delight.  He  gloated 
over  the  fact  that  the  sons  of  a  thousand  generations  of 
donkeys,  as  he  called  them,  had  lost  fifteen  mehara,  every 
one  of  which  sold  for  the  price  of  twelve  Filali  pack-camels. 
When  assured  by  d'Ornano  that  this  equalled  one  hundred 
and  eighty  pack-camels,  he  fairly  gaped  and  declared  that 
he  felt  himself  avenged  for  having  been  sold  into  slavery 
by  the  Hoggars;  a  statement  which  led  Gisele  to  ask  him 


198        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

how  many  camels  it  would  take  to  buy  a  king  in  his  country, 
since  one  hundred  and  eighty  of  them  represented  the  price 
of  his  eleventh  son. 

D'Ornano  was  silent,  not  so  much  because  the  arms  of 
the  young  woman  were  folded  around  his  waist  as  because 
his  was  decidedly  a  soul  that  did  not  admit  of  a  state  of 
thankfulness.  They  reached  the  well  in  five  hours.  The 
place  was  utterly  forlorn  and  desolate.  The  moon,  which 
had  now  been  up  three  hours,  dispensed  its  frigid  rays  to 
a  lone  kuba  and  to  an  irregular  hole  lined  with  huge  por- 
phyry stones.  They  found  dates  in  the  kuba,  last  rem- 
nants of  provisions  left  there  by  a  caravan  mindful  of  the 
needs  of  brothers  in  distress.  As  they  were  without  food, 
the  find  was  exceedingly  welcome.  They  allowed  the 
camels  a  drink,  and  went  to  sleep. 

Gisele,  too  thinly  clad,  was  glad  to  be  muffled  up  for  the 
night  in  d'Ornano's  burnous.  The  Corsican  was  the  last 
to  awake;  and  when  Anoun-Dialo  came  to  call  him,  all 
was  ready  for  an  immediate  start.  A  look  at  the  sun  con- 
vinced him  that  it  was  already  late,  and  that  departure 
could  not  be  delayed  an  instant  longer. 

He  noticed  that  the  breeze  had  shifted  from  north-east 
to  south.  This  foretold  a  simoom.  In  other  circumstances 
he  would  have  decided  to  await  in  the  kuba  the  passing  of 
the  sand-storm;  but  this  was  out  of  the  question,  since  the 
party  of  Tuaregg,  hurrying  forward  to  find  shelter  before 
the  breaking  of  the  storm,  might  be  expected  at  any 
moment.  He  determined  to  risk  the  adventure.  In  the 
sand-dunes,  where  they  ran  the  risk  of  being  buried  under 
the  moving  sands,  this  would  have  been  folly  pure  and 
simple;  but,  on  stony  ground,  they  could  hope  to  reach  their 


THE    VEILED   PEOPLE   OF  THE    LANCE  199 

goal  at  the  cost  of  some  additional  suffering.  Here,  at  the 
extreme  limit  of  northern  Sahara,  simooms  never  constituted 
a  real  danger  to  life.  Figuig  was  now  no  more  than  eight 
hours'  distant,  their  supply  of  water  was  ample,  the  mehara 
were  rested  and  the  track  lay  due  north  in  the  dry  bed  of  a 
torrent.  With  due  allowance  for  the  sand-storm,  they  could 
hope  to  sight  the  oasis  before  dark. 

As  the  Corsican  explained  shortly  afterwards  to  Gisele, 
the  situation  of  the  Tuaregg  was  much  more  precarious 
than  their  own.  If  they  had  awaited  the  coming  of  the 
men  who  had  stopped  to  take  possession  of  Sidi-Malik's 
baggage  there  would  be  three  riders  for  each  beast.  In 
such  conditions  they  were  bound  to  stop  at  the  well  until 
word  of  their  plight  reached  Bou-Amel.  This  would 
render  possible  a  complete  turning  of  the  tables.  If  in- 
formed in  time  of  the  presence  of  Tuaregg  so  near  Figuig, 
the  general  in  command  of  the  place  would  not  fail  to 
despatch  against  them  the  scouts  of  the  camel  corps. 
Sidi-Malik's  property  would  be  recaptured,  and  the  law  of 
the  desert,  "the  raider  shall  be  raided,"  would  be  fulfilled; 
another  illustration  of  the  proverb  that  there  is  no  profit 
under  the  sun. 

He  had  turned  in  the  saddle,  and  it  was  with  a  smile  that 
he  reminded  his  companion  of  a  sentence  she  had  made 
her  own,  finding  an  innocent  amusement  in  furnishing  her 
with  the  opportunity  of  playing  again  with  the  foils  of 
controversy.  The  artlessness  of  her  attempts  at  grasping 
a  word  in  full  flight,  like  an  acrobat  a  trapeze;  and  her 
triumph  when  she  caught  him  red-handed  after  an  attempt 
to  steal  the  victory  by  introducing  a  sophism  into  the  dis- 
cussion, were  to  him  a  source  of  never-ending  delight.     He 


200        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

had  said  "no  profit  under  the  sun."  She  took  up  the 
phrase: 

"No  profit?  I  am  not  so  sure.  There  is  a  profit  in 
life  itself,  and  man  is  a  born  gambler.  It  is  the  sensation 
of  winning  and  losing,  not  the  gold  which  makes  the  game. 
Light  is  light  only  in  so  far  as  there  are  eyes  to  see;  and 
vibration  does  not  exist  outside  of  a  vibrator.  Yourself, 
Monsieur  d'Ornano,  you  live  a  life  akin  to  that  of  these 
Tuaregg.  I  have  been  asking  myself  many  a  time  the 
meaning  of  the  gospel  of  action  I  heard  you  preach.  I 
know  now — it  dawned  upon  me  last  night.  You  move 
not  so  much  for  the  sake  of  disturbing  the  universe  as  to 
hear  in  yourself  the  echo  of  this  disturbance.  You  are 
then  primarily  contemplative — as  are  we  all.  The  differ- 
ence between  us  is  that  I  register  whispers  and  you  nothing 
but  noises.  Being  strictly  contemplative,  I  am  well  con- 
tent to  listen  without  a  move  to  the  voices  of  others.  I  take 
my  sensation  second  hand.     You  strike  the  blow  yourself." 

"Then  you  believe  that  my  sensation  of  last  night  was 
not  worth  your  own  ?  You  were  registering  both  whispers 
and  noises,  and  I  only  noises  ? " 

"It  is  hard  to  say.  We  are  not  pitched  in  the  same  key, 
that's  all.  When  the  sound  becomes  too  shrill,  the  human 
ear  ceases  to  perceive  it.  But  I  readily  conceive  an  organ 
easily  affected  by  shriller  notes.  Very  likely  some  insects 
possess  it.  It  follows  that  their  conception  of  the  universe 
is  altogether  different  from  our  own.  Supposing  that  they 
possess  intellect  in  the  same  degree  as  we  do,  their  philoso- 
phy and  ours  are  still  without  a  common  basis.  This 
amounts  to  saying  that  differences  between  individuals 
render  souls  impenetrable  to  each  other.     Last  night  you 


THE   VEILED  PEOPLE   OF  THE   LANCE  201 

were  still  cool  and  possessed  when  the  thinking  process  had 
already  been  abolished  in  me.  I  had  ceased  to  register; 
you  were  still  registering.  Consequently,  I  am  unable  to 
make  even  a  guess  at  the  nature  of  your  sensations;  the 
only  thing  clear  to  me  is  that  you  were  thoroughly  enjoying 
yourself.  Reasoning  by  analogy,  I  surmise  that  the  Tu- 
aregg,  foiled  as  they  were,  are  at  present  experiencing 
sensations  of  the  highest  order.  As  their  organization  is 
eminently  designed  to  stand  this  sort  of  excitement,  they 
are  putting  by  stores  of  experience.  Experience,  that  is  to 
say,  the  consciousness  that  at  one  time  or  other  we  have 
been  truly  alive,  is  wealth.  Therefore  it  cannot  be  said 
that  '  there  is  no  profit  under  the  sun/  Moreover,  let  me 
observe  to  you  that  Solomon  was  a  Cartesian  before 
Descartes.  It  was  the  discovery  that  nothing  is  profitable 
which  convinced  him  of  his  wisdom;  and  he  says  himself 
that  wisdom  excelleth  folly  as  much  as  light  excelleth 
darkness.  Now,  if  there  is  a  profit  in  wisdom,  the  conclu- 
sion contradicts  the  premises.  But  the  failing  is  common 
to  all  philosophers." 

D'Ornano  laughed.  One  of  his  pet  theories  was  that 
philosophy  was  bankrupt. 

"Well  done!"  he  said.  "I  may  be  as  obtuse  as  a  fish 
and  three-quarters  blind;  but  all  of  the  universe  I  care  for 
is  the  image — distorted  if  you  will — my  imperfect  organs 
enable  me  to  receive.  I  enjoy  myself  as  I  am.  May  I 
ask  you  if  you  feel  richer  by  the  experience  of  last  night?" 

"  It  cannot  be  said,  at  any  rate,  that  I  have  lost  anything. 
What  do  you  think?" 

Her  eyes  were  laughing  in  spite  of  herself.  Apparently 
d'Ornano  thought  that  if  the  mehari  turned  to  bite  he  was 


202        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

in  need  of  a  kick,  for  he  gave  all  his  attention  to  the  ani- 
mal. The  necessity  for  stern  repression  did  not  explain 
why  he  flushed  and  kept  looking  straight  ahead,  a  poor 
picture  for  a  man  who  so  thoroughly  enjoyed  himself. 
But  Gisele  did  not  mind.  She  had  long  ago  diagnosed 
his  case  as  hopeless,  and  knew  well  that  he  would  always 
miss  the  chance  to  make  her  a  madrigal. 

They  travelled  two  hours.  Then  a  cloud  of  dust  arising 
in  their  rear  warned  them  of  the  approach  of  the  sand- 
storm. It  was  blazing  hot.  They  were  at  the  bottom  of 
a  gorge  and  the  short  gusts  of  wind  seemed  the  very  breath 
of  a  smelting  furnace.  Gisele,  bundled  up  in  d'Ornano's 
burnous,  the  cowl  of  the  garment  pulled  down  on  her  eyes, 
was  to  some  extent  spared  the  burns  of  the  blast;  but  the 
Corsican  had  no  other  recourse  against  the  heat  than  the 
handkerchief  he  wetted  constantly  and  applied  on  the  nape 
of  his  neck.  He  felt  sleepy,  and  this  was  a  bad  sign.  His 
bare  feet — the  mehari  will  not  stand  the  contact  of  shoes — 
were  almost  blistered.  Had  it  not  been  that,  to  relieve 
suffering,  he  was  constantly  rubbing  them  against  the  fur 
of  the  camel,  he  would  have  fallen  asleep.  He  straightened 
suddenly  under  the  lash  of  a  feeling  of  responsibility  re- 
awakened by  a  shout  of  warning. 

Anoun-Dialo  was  shaking  him  by  the  shoulder.  They 
had  reached  a  turn  of  the  canyon.  In  front  of  them  the 
gorge  was  filled  with  horsemen. 

Wondering  if  he  was  not  the  victim  of  some  hallucina- 
tion, the  Corsican  rubbed  his  eyes.  For  the  last  few  minutes 
he  had  been  tormented  by  an  obsession :  the  sight  of  native 
women  filling  their  jars  in  a  large  stream  which,  he  knew 
well,  did  not  exist.     He  felt  that  his  head  was  hot  and 


Then  a  sickening  weakness  stole  over  him 


THE   VEILED   PEOPLE   OF  THE    LANCE  203 

heavy,  and  wondered  if  it  was  still  in  a  dream  that  he 
beheld  a  company  of  the  Foreign  Legion,  his  own  corps. 

He  tried  to  speak  and  could  not.  Gisele  was  also  shak- 
ing him,  trying  to  hold  him  up,  with  a  frantic  call  for  help. 
Anoun-Dialo  lowered  him  to  the  ground.  He  stood  there 
like  a  drunken  man,  scarcely  aware  that  the  negro  deluged 
him  under  a  flow  of  water.  A  lieutenant  he  knew  vaguely 
had  taken  hold  of  his  hand.  Men  were  shouting  around 
him  in  a  pure  delirium  of  delight.  He  thought  it  stupid  to 
be  vacillating  there  like  a  puppet,  unable  to  utter  a  sound. 
Then  he  was  made  to  lie  down.  Anoun-Dialo  held  his 
bare  arm  while  the  lieutenant  bled  him  with  his  knife. 
He  was  on  Gisele's  knees.  The  last  he  saw  was  her  white 
face  and  her  eyes,  brightening  as  tears  were  ready  to  fall. 
Then  a  sickening  weakness  sstole  over  him  and  he  sank 
into  an  ocean  of  horrors. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  FOURTH  GALON 

While  Gisele  listened  to  every  word,  d'Ornano  fought  the 
imps  of  delirium. 

The  corpse-carriers  ran  so  rapidly  that  horsemen,  gallop- 
ing on  the  flank  of  the  column  did  not  succeed  in  keeping 
abreast.  The  hoofs  of  the  horses  did  not  touch  the  ground. 
A  blue  smoke  enshrouded  the  plain.  Here  and  there 
flowers  raised  their  moving  stems  above  this  stratum  of 
vapor.  A  light  wind  fanned  his  face.  He  gave  himself 
up  with  pleasure  to  this  languor,  this  forgetfulness  of 
opium. 

The  cortege  reached  a  spot  where  black  cypresses  grew 
between  white  stones.  The  procession  continued  its 
fantastical  run  among  graves.  All  these  tombstones  were 
raising  themselves.  A  thick  black  smoke  issued  from  each 
vault.  Slowly  it  resolved  itself  into  human  forms,  and 
these  phantoms  made  signs  to  him  to  join  them. 

The  carriers  stopped  suddenly,  tied  his  big  toes  together 
and  lowered  him  into  a  circular  well. 

On  top  of  him  they  lowered  a  basket  filled  with  figs, 

honey-combs,  olives  and  dates.   Then  they  left  him.     He 

saw  that  a  stone  blocked  the  mouth  of  the  pit  and  that  he 

was  left  in  complete  darkness.     He  heard  somebody  call 

him  by  name,  and  recognized  the  voice  of  Sidi-Malik. 

204 


THE   FOURTH  GALON  205 

The  camel-driver  took  him  by  the  hair  and  released  him 
from  the  shroud.  They  went  straight  up.  The  earth 
became  a  mere  point  in  the  heavens.  They  saw  millions 
of  stars. 

But  his  companion  suddenly  melted,  and  he  continued 
alone  his  course  through  frigid  spaces.  He  was  conscious 
of  a  rapid  gravitation  around  some  planet.  All  at  once 
he  discovered  that  he  was  falling  headlong  upon  some 
world  afire. 

The  speed  of  his  fall  became  terrific.  The  displacement 
of  air  prevented  him  from  breathing.  Star  powder,  gritty 
as  sand,  filled  his  ears  and  his  nostrils.  Out  of  a  sky 
ablaze  with  heat,  he  shot  like  an  arrow  into  some  icy  fluid 
where  his  momentum  gradually  decreased.  He  had  fallen 
into  a  deep  sea.  Around  him  the  waters  were  alive  with 
battling  monsters.  He  kicked  and  went  up.  When  he 
reached  the  surface  he  saw  that  he  was  afloat  on  the 
ghastly  waters  of  an  ocean  without  a  sun. 

Cold  rain  was  falling  on  his  shoulders.  The  surf 
jostled  him  towards  some  bleak  and  steep  shore.  He 
reached  the  beach  and  noticed  that  the  sand  under  him 
was  of  jade  and  silver.  He  sat  down  in  the  midst  of  green 
beings  with  incandescent  sapphire  eyes  which  reminded  him 
of  frogs.  They  were  weeping.  They  all  pointed,  between 
the  sea  and  the  low  sky,  to  a  black  smoke.  It  was  the 
simoom.  He  felt  as  if  a  torrent  of  sand  was  pouring  down 
upon  him. 

Somebody  gave  him  a  drink  and  wiped  away  the  powder 
which  covered  his  face.  He  recognized  Gisele.  She  took 
him  by  the  hand,  her  forefinger  pressing  his  wrist.  A  long 
time  they  walked  through  the  sand-storm,  finally  reaching 


206        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

a  gorge  between  high  mountains  whose  summits  were 
lost  in  the  fog.  At  dusk  they  came  upon  a  deserted 
temple.  Aloes  and  cacti  grew  between  disjointed  stones, 
and  the  moat  was  filled  with  the  bodies  of  slain  Ait-Li tzam. 
Although  two  leopards  defended  the  gate,  Gisele  passed 
unharmed  between  them.  Beyond  was  a  semi-darkness 
imprisoned  between  walls  of  onyx  and  heavy  Egyptian 
columns.  She  called  to  him  to  follow.  They  came  upon 
a  large  gong  of  red  copper. 

" Listen,"  she  said.  "This  is  the  temple  the  Sabatheans 
erected  to  the  God  Silence.  Solomon  hung  this  gong 
between  the  columns,  and  it  is  the  largest  in  the  whole 
world.     Listen!" 

She  struck,  and  a  fearsome  shiver  of  metal  rolled  like 
waves  through  the  empty  hall.  Then  he  saw  that  a 
demon  was  seated  on  a  throne  of  ebony  at  the  head  of  a 
flight  of  marble  steps.  At  his  left  came  a  slow  procession 
of  women;   at  his  right  a  throng  of  armed  conquerors. 

Among  the  women  he  recognized  the  Queen  of  Sheba, 
Thai's,  Salome",  Zenobia  and  Inez  de  Castro;  among  the 
men  Hannibal,  Khaleb,  Timour,  Khair-ed-Din-Barbarossa 
and  the  Cid  Campeador.  And  behold !  the  demon  having 
asked:  "Who  are  you  all?"  all  were  too  proud  to 
answer.  When  he  said,  "What  have  you  done  ?"  they  all 
gave  him  a  disdainful  look.  But  when  he  asked:  "What 
do  you  want?"  they  all  replied,  "Decide  between  us." 

But  the  demon  laughed  and  said:  "You  are  but  a 
name  and  a  handful  of  ashes,  nothing  but  a  taste  of  bitter 
death.  Get  you  back  to  Plutonian  darkness.  There  is 
but  one  mortal  greater  than  all  the  gods." 

They  all  asked  who  that  mortal  was,  but  the  demon 


THE  FOURTH  GALON  207 

fanned  the  night  with  vampire  winds.  There  was  a 
whirlwind  of  ashes  and  another  gust  of  simoom.  They 
found  themselves  on  the  sea-shore.  With  her  forefinger, 
Gisele  wrote  on  the  sand ;  but  there  was  no  meaning  to  the 
sentence.  When  he  turned  to  follow  he  heard  her  mocking 
laugh,  and  saw  that  she  had  taken  the  arm  of  a  stranger. 

While  simoom  and  fever  lasted,  d'Ornano  had  many 
another  nightmare.  He  so  often  uttered  the  name  of 
Leyton  that  Gisele  was  gradually  led  to  believe  that  his 
friendship  for  the  painter  did  not  exclude  a  large  percentage 
of  jealousy,  a  discovery  not  calculated  to  displease  her. 
Towards  the  middle  of  the  night  the  wind  abated  and  he 
fell  into  deep  slumber.  He  awoke  towards  eight  o'clock 
next  morning,  none  the  worse  for  his  sunstroke,  but  a  little 
weak  and  unable  to  account  for  the  fact  that  a  canvas  of 
unmistakable  military  pattern  had  been  pitched  over  his 
head  and  that  the  water-bottle  hanging  from  the  tent-pole 
was  clothed  in  blue  worsted  and  bore  the  matricule  No. 
2354. 

He  was  in  a  bed;  a  bed  of  a  kind,  since  it  consisted 
solely  of  a  mattress  of  inflated  rubber.  At  his  right  he 
saw  an  officer's  canteen  bearing  the  label:  Lieutenant 
Capo  di  Borgo — ler  Eti -anger. 

He  smiled :  Capo  di  Borgo.  .  .  .  The  name  was  more 
than  Corsican,  it  was  familiar.  He  remembered  the  face 
seen  the  day  before.  Two  years  ago  it  belonged  to  a 
sergeant  of  his  acquaintance.  There  were  other  faces,  too, 
which  he  thought  he  recollected.  And  all  at  once,  unable 
to  resist  the  temptation  to  go  and  shake  a  few  hands,  he 
tumbled  out  of  bed,  dressed  hastily  and  drew  the  curtain. 


208        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

He  discovered  with  some  surprise  that  the  column  no 
longer  occupied  the  ravine.  But  a  man  was  there,  sitting 
in  full  sun,  who  took  sand  by  the  handfuls,  wetted  it  and 
used  it  to  polish  a  bit,  a  pair  of  stirrups  and  a  scabbard. 
Convinced,  evidently,  that  the  efficiency  of  a  troop  wholly 
depends  upon  the  care  bestowed  on  military  hardware,  the 
private  blew  from  time  to  time  on  the  metal  and  then 
wiped  it  with  a  piece  of  woollen.  When  he  heard  d'Or- 
nano's  footsteps,  he  hastily  got  up,  came  to  attention  and 
saluted. 

"Oh,  is  that  you,  O'Hara?"  exclaimed  the  Corsican. 
"And  where  do  you  come  from,  if  I  may  ask?  Last  time 
I  heard  of  you,  you  were  again  a  deserter." 

The  Irishman  grinned,  wiped  his  fingers  on  his  trousers 
and  took  the  hand  that  was  offered  him. 

"We  all  desert,"  he  answered  in  a  French  that  was  not 
free  from  Irish  brogue.  "But  we  all  come  back  in  God's 
due  time.  I  got  sixty  days  in  jail  and  five  in  the  silo  *  for 
desertion.     But  the  spree  was  worth  it." 

He  winked  and  asked: 

"How  do  you  be  feeling,  sir?" 

"  As  fine  as  a  sunstruck  man  can  expect,  O'Hara.  But 
where  is  Lieutenant  di  Borgo  ?  Where  is  the  young  lady 
who  came  with  me  yesterday?" 

"Asleep  in  the  other  tent,  sir.  She  sat  by  your  bed  half 
the  night.  Lieutenant  Capo  went  after  them  Tuaregg  of 
yours.  We  have  been  expecting  him  for  an  hour  or  the 
like.  All  as  is  left  here  is  me,  that  nigger  of  yours,  Wein- 
shwurtz  and  an  American  man." 

*  The  silo  or  matmorah  is  a  hole  dug  in  dry  ground  and  used  as  a 
granary  by  the  natives. 


THE   FOURTH   GALON  209 

"  Weinshwurtz!  Is  Weinshwurtz  back  again  ?  I  thought 
he,  too,  was  a  deserter?" 

"So  he  was,  sir.  So  he  was.  Them  Germans,  like  as 
not,  go  back  home  once  in  a  while.  But  we  get  them  all 
back,  and  more.  You  wait,  sir,  and  see  them  recruits. 
We  have  Vouravief,  who  blew  up  a  whole  police  patrol  in 
Cronstadt.  We  have  Pobadjeski,  who  deserted  from  the 
German  Army  with  arms,  horse  and  baggage.  He  drank 
the  horse,  blight  his  eyes,  and  came  to  us  so  broke  that  the 
first  thing  he  did  was  to  borrow  my  pipe  and  my  tobacco 
and  my  matches.  Then  there  is  that  American  man.  A 
sailor  he  used  to  be.  Came  here  nobody  knows  why, 
unless  it  be  he  got  drunk  in  Algiers,  ran  against  some 
Kabyles  and  enjoyed  the  fight.  We  have  a  Boer,  Van 
Bomsen,  and  an  Englishman,  Thomlinson.  You  will  be 
after  enjoying  these  two,  sir.  My  pal,  Larry,  and  myself 
have  them  two  for  bulldogs.  Saving  your  presence,  when 
a  man  is  crazy  he  comes  here;  when  he  gets  drunk  he 
goes  away;  and  we  sees  him  again  as  soon  as  he  comes 
back  to  his  senses.  Good  men,  all.  And  mighty  thankful 
me  and  you  is  going  to  see  trouble  together." 

He  called  to  Weinshwurtz  and  to  the  American — Kelly 
by  name — who  were  busy  currying  the  horses.  D'Ornano 
shook  hands  with  both  men.  But  at  the  first  words  his 
attention  was  called  away.  Capo  di  Borgo  and  the 
column  were  coming  back. 

"  Damme  if  them  Tuaregg  have  not  all  been  pinched  in 
this  simoom  like  tobacco  in  a  snuffbox,"  commented 
O'Hara.  Then  turning  to  the  American:  "Ever  seen 
them  Indians  from  this  here  country,  Kelly,  me  man  ? " 

He  followed  d'Ornano,  his  grin  denoting  that  he  was  in 


210        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

for  his  full  share  of  the  ovation  that  greeted  the  appearance 
of  the  Captain.  The  Corsican  proceeded  at  once  to  review 
the  prisoners.  They  were  seventeen.  Part  of  Sidi- 
Malik's  property  had  been  recovered  and  six  camels  had 
been  captured.  When,  among  the  raiders,  he  recognized 
Mustapha,  son  of  Sheikh  Muhamed,  he  exclaimed : 

"So  thou  wast  the  guide,  after  all!  If  ever  beni-kelb 
was  welcome,  thou  art  the  man.  O'Hara,  fetch  me 
Anoun-Dialo!" 

The  negro  came  running  a  minute  later. 

"Pick  out  the  best  mehari  in  the  lot,  and  find  out  which 
man  is  most  likely  to  find  his  way  back  to  Igli,"  d'Ornano 
ordered.  "No,  not  Mustapha.  He  stays  here  as  a 
hostage.     Get  me  somebody  else!" 

The  negro  began  to  ask  questions  in  unintelligible 
Tamazigh.     Soon  he  pointed  to  a  man  and  a  camel. 

"Tell  him  that  he  is  free  to  go  back,"  d'Ornano  resumed. 
"Explain  to  him  that  he  must  go  to  Sheikh  Muhamed  and 
warn  him  that  Mustapha's  life  answers  for  the  life  of  Sidi- 
Malik  and  Sidi  Leitoun.  The  lives  of  the  other  Tuaregg 
will  answer  for  the  delivery  of  his  message.  I  must  have 
an  answer  within  five  days.  See  to  it  that  he  is  provided 
with  food  and  water." 

Anoun-Dialo  handed  the  Targui  a  basket  of  dates 
and  two  goat-skins.     He  declared  that  all  was  ready. 

"Then  let  go!"  ordered  the  Corsican.  "And  tell  him 
to  remember  me  to  Bou-Amel." 

A  mad  outburst  of  yells  and  whistles  greeted  the  start 
of  the  mehari  rider.  D'Ornano  turned  towards  his 
countryman. 

"This  fellow  might  fall  in  with  some  Chambaa  and  come 


THE   FOURTH  GALON  211 

back  in  force,"  he  said.  "Is  there  any  reason  why  we 
should  not  leave  at  once  for  Figuig?" 

"  None  whatever.  I  was  sent  here  to  ascertain  the  move- 
ments of  Bou-Amel,  and  I  find  that  you  are  better  posted 
than  I  would  be  if  I  waited  here  a  week.  Moreover,  my 
duty  is  to  furnish  you  with  an  escort.  I  understand  that 
you  were  intrusted  with  important  papers." 

"Who  told  you  that?"  asked  d'Ornano,  smiling. 

"Mile,  de  Diolie,  of  course,"  the  Lieutenant  replied. 
"You  cannot  request  the  doctor  not  to  chatter  with  the 
nurse,  you  know.  But,  to  come  back  to  business,  if  your 
papers  are  to  be  forwarded  to  the  General  Staff  and  Mile, 
de  Diolie  sent  to  the  coast,  you  had  better  hurry  up." 

"Then  we  are  threatened  also  from  the  north?" 

"We  are  threatened  from  everywhere.  You  know 
where  Bou-Amel  is  better  than  I.  But  Abd-er-Rhaman 
has  left  Taza  and  the  Ouled-Sidi-Sheiks  are  restless. 
General  Pluvigne"  fears  that,  with  all  his  desire  to  remain 
our  friend,  Si-Hamza  won't  be  able  to  restrain  them.  It 
stands  to  reason  that  a  march  to  the  sea  cannot  be  under- 
taken before  the  defences  of  Figuig  are  swept  clean.  The 
Ouled-Sidi-Sheiks  first  care  will  be  to  fall  upon  the  rail- 
road and  demolish  the  tracks." 

"And  trains  won't  be  running  below  Khreider.  I  see. 
Kindly  give  orders  for  an  immediate  start." 

He  told  Anoun-Dialo  to  fetch  Gisele's  bassour,  which 
had  been  brought  in  with  the  recaptured  baggage,  and 
fulfilled  O'Hara's  ambitions  by  requesting  him  to  lend 
him  his  horse  and  to  take  personal  charge  of  Mustapha. 
The  Irishman  called  his  friend  Larry,  and  instructed 
him  to  go  and  request  the  presence  of  Capo  di  Borgo,  his 


212        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

own  duties  as  a  keeper  of  hostages  preventing  him  from 
going  himself  in  search  of  his  superior. 

When  the  Lieutenant  rode  alongside  O'Hara  took  a 
twist  of  chewing  tobacco  out  of  his  pocket,  held  it  tight 
between  two  fingers  and  allowed  Larry  to  take  a  bite. 

"The  tip  of  the  morning  to  you,  sir,"  he  began.  "Any 
objection  to  let  Larry  ride  forward  to  Figuig?" 

"To  what  purpose?"  asked  the  Lieutenant. 

"Purpose  enough,  sir,  seeing  that  Captain  d'Ornano 
has  been  given  up  for  dead,  and  none  of  his  fellow-officers 
won't  be  told  of  his  coming  in  time  to  greet  him  and  cheer 
him  for  what  he's  done.  Give  him  a  receptive  punch, 
sez  I." 

Capo  di  Borgo  reddened.  Like  all  Corsicans,  he  was  of 
facile  enthusiasm.  He  reflected  that  part  of  the  adulation 
bestowed  upon  d'Ornano  would  revert  to  the  island  of  their 
birth  and  therefore  to  himself. 

"Larry  can  go,"  he  said.  "He  will  see  first  the  Secre- 
tary of  the  Cercle  Militaire." 

"  And  then  every  man,  woman  and  child  he  meets  on 
the  way,"  added  O'Hara. 

Capo  di  Borgo  was  writing.  He  tore  a  page  from  his 
note-book. 

"Go  to  General  Pluvignd  with  this,"  he  said.  "The 
General  must  be  told  that  the  Captain  comes  with  im- 
portant papers." 

Meantime  d'Ornano  had  gone  to  inform  Gisele  of  Mus- 
tapha's  capture.  When  the  column  began  to  move  he 
remained  behind  her  bassour.  At  one  o'clock  they  came 
in  sight  of  Beni-Ounif,  at  the  entrance  of  the  gorge  known 
as  the  Wad-el-Haluf. 


THE   FOURTH  GALON  213 

The  troops  stationed  in  Beni-Ounif — a  battalion  of 
Sudanese  Tirailleurs — had  been  sent  to  patrol  the  railroad 
in  the  direction  of  Colomb-Bechar.  But  their  wives  and 
children  had  been  left  at  home.  As  everybody  sat  at 
lunch,  negresses  made  their  appearance  in  the  camp, 
bringing  the  mouna  of  eggs,  chickens  and  palm  wine.  The 
wife  of  a  quartermaster  sergeant,  wearing  the  madras  and 
cotton  dress  distinctive  of  a  signare,  was  leading  them. 
It  fell  to  Anoun-Dialo,  who  alone  understood  the  Yolof  and 
Serrer  dialects,  to  act  as  interpreter.  She  made  obeisance 
to  d'Ornano,  throwing  at  his  feet  a  chicken  whose  throat 
she  had  just  cut,  and  she  placed  his  hand  on  top  of  her 
head.  Incidentally,  her  hair  contained  fully  half  a  pound 
of  rancid  butter.  Gisele  was  unable  to  repress  her  mirth 
when  she  saw  the  Corsican  look  at  his  palm,  and,  behind 
his  back,  to  avoid  offending  the  signare,  wipe  it  on  his 
burnous.  Eggs,  chickens  and  palm  wine  were  accepted 
and  thanks  returned.  But  the  end  had  not  yet  come. 
The  signare  began  a  speech,  extremely  eulogistic,  judging 
by  her  gestures,  and  another  woman  took  her  place  as  soon 
as  she  showed  signs  of  weakening.  D'Ornano  was  hungry 
and  little  relished  the  joke.  Gisele  came  to  his  relief,  point- 
ing out  that  it  was  not  at  all  necessary  for  him  to  stand. 
Anoun-Dialo  would  be  delighted  to  relate  to  the  admiring 
females  the  incidents  of  their  voyage.  This  the  negro  did 
to  everybody's  satisfaction,  especially  to  his  own;  and  the 
shifting  of  interest  came  soon  to  betray  the  fact  that  the 
exploits  of  d'Ornano  had  fallen  to  the  rank  of  mere  inci- 
dents. 

But  all  glory  is  dearly  bought.     A  keen  observer  of 
human  nature,  private  O'Hara,  by  name,  made  it  a  duty 


214   IN  THE  WAKE  OF  THE  GREEN  BANNER 

and  a  pleasure  to  distribute  among  his  friends  all  the 
delicacies  he  could  not  eat  himself.  As  he  found  palm 
wine  especially  suited  to  cure  his  various  stomach  com- 
plaints, it  came  to  pass  that  Anoun-Dialo  beheld  empty 
jars  at  the  very  time  the  hapless  Mustapha  began  to  experi- 
ence the  jocosity  of  an  Irishman  after  drink. 

In  Tarla,  three  kilometres  north  of  Beni-Ounif,  d'Orna- 
no  had  to  submit  to  an  ovation  of  another  kind.  The  flag 
of  the  fort  went  up  and  down  three  times  in  succession. 
Five  minutes  later  the  Corsican  caught  sight  of  Colonial 
Infantry  crowning  the  top  of  the  adobe  wall  surrounding 
the  palm  gardens.  These  men  jumped  from  their  position 
and  came  to  mingle  with  the  Legionaries.  An  ear  splitting 
din  followed.  Despite  the  heat,  there  were  many  more 
kepis  in  the  blue  that  filtered  between  palms  than  on  the 
heads  of  their  owners.  For  two  minutes  d'Ornano  was 
kept  busy  shaking  hands.  He  was  rescued  by  an  officer, 
who  ordered  the  men  back. 

"Captain  d'Ornano?"  inquired  the  newcomer. 

"Myself." 

"Glad  of  the  opportunity  to  welcome  you  to  Figuig. 
I  am  Captain  Jarchin,  in  command  of  these  men,  and,  for 
the  time  being,  stationed  in  the  fort  above  us.  General 
Pluvigne*  just  telephoned.  He  awaits  your  coming  at  the 
Cercle  Militaire,  and  you  are  to  take  your  papers  with  you. 
Can  one  of  your  men  lend  me  a  horse?  I  am  the  only 
mounted  man  in  my  company,  and  horses  are  of  little  use 
up  there." 

D'Omiano  sought  Capo  di  Borgo  in  the  crowd. 

"Capo,"  he  ordered  with  a  sternness  belied  by  his 
smile,   figet  down  at  once!    Devil  take  me  if  I  am  not 


THE   FOURTH  GALON  215 

going  to  ride  your  horse  to  death  to  repay  you  for 
this  piece  of  treachery.  Consider  yourself  under  close 
arrest!" 

"And  devil  take  me  if  I  am  not  going  to  take  my 
medicine  behind  Mile,  de  Diolie's  bassour,"  the  young 
man  replied,  instantly  leaving  the  saddle.  "Anything  to 
be  rid  of  you.     Good-by!,, 

D'Ornano  and  Jarchin  were  already  galloping  in  the 
direction  of  Figuig.  Here  the  canyon  of  the  Wad-el-Haluf 
became  so  narrow  that  the  opposite  cliffs  were  not  a 
stone's-throw  from  each  other.  In  ten  minutes  they  came 
in  sight  of  the  palms.  The  oasis  and  its  ten  villages  lay  at 
the  bottom  of  a  depression  which  had  once  contained  a 
lake.  Surrounded  by  mountains  on  every  side,  Figuig 
derived  its  water  from  a  multitude  of  ravines  furrowed 
on  the  steep  slopes  of  the  djebel  Zenaga  and  djebel 
Hamam.  Another  quarter  of  an  hour's  ride  across  palm 
plantations  brought  the  two  officers  to  the  villages.  El- 
Maiz  Inferior  was  the  southernmost  of  these  ksour. 
Abruptly,  they  found  themselves  at  the  entrance  of  a 
piazza. 

Turcos  in  wide  trousers  of  blue,  their  red  fezzes  thrown 
on  their  necks,  were  exercising  with  bayonets  in  the  glare 
of  the  sunlit  square.  A  crowd  composed  mostly  of  natives 
had  gathered  around  them.  The  steel  glittered  and 
rattled  as  the  troopers  advanced  by  short  leaps,  catlike  and 
treacherous,  a  cruel  glimmer  on  their  teeth.  Officers  of 
all  arms, — Turcos,  Zouaves,  Spahis,  Field  and  Mountain 
Artillery,  Foreign  Legion,  Meharists,  Bureau  Arabe, 
Engineers  and  Chasseurs  d'Afrique  were  idling  on  the  four 
flanks  of  the  company,  so  obviously  attempting  to  kill  time 


216        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

that  cTOrnano  realized  all  at  once  the  extent  of  the  con- 
spiracy against  him.  He  had  no  sooner  been  sighted  than 
a  kaleidoscopic  change  came  over  the  square.  The  natives 
were  racing  towards  him;  the  Turcos  ran  towards  the 
Cercle  Militaire.  Bareheaded,  holding  their  kepis  at  the 
point  of  their  swords,  the  officers  were  cheering.  Presently 
they  all  turned  and  made  their  way  towards  the  Cercle 
Militaire.  To  avoid  running  down  the  children,  d'Ornano 
had  been  compelled  to  put  his  horse  at  a  slower  gait. 
Above  the  sea  of  shaven  skulls  he  saw  the  company  of 
Turcos  line  themselves  against  the  wall.  Two  minutes 
passed.  As  he  dismounted  he  heard  a  lieutenant  com- 
mand: 

"Presentez  .  .  .  armes!" 

The  Turcos  were  proffering  their  weapons.  They  were 
not  alone  in  rendering  military  honors.  Without  distinc- 
tion of  grades,  officers  of  all  arms  had  lined  themselves  on 
both  sides  of  the  stairway.  There  was  no  cheering  this 
time.  Held  at  arm's-length,  sabres  and  swords  crossed 
each  other.  This  was  the  "vault  of  steel,"  and  under  it  the 
Corsican  must  pass  before  entering  the  building.  Very 
pale  now,  he  brought  his  right  hand  to  his  forehead  and 
began  to  ascend  the  stairs. 

Up  the  steps  General  Pluvigne'  was  waiting. 

The  two  men  kissed.  This  was  the  signal  for  a  scene 
of  abominable  disorder.  All  blades  were  pushed  back  in 
the  scabbards.  While  some  men  were  shaking  d'Ornano 
by  the  hand,  others  shook  him  by  the  head,  all  of  them 
uttering  animal  cries.  Finally  a  party  of  lieutenants 
caught  the  Corsican  by  the  legs,  lifted  him  on  their  shoul- 
ders and  carried  him  around  the  reception-room.     Mean- 


THE   FOURTH  GALON  217 

time  others  sang,  to  the  tune  of  "Marlborough,"  clapping 
their  hands  to  mark  time: 

II  nous  revient  de  guerre, 
Mironton,  mironton,  mironlaire 
II  nous  revient  de  guerre 
Sans  chapeau  ni  souliers; 
Mais  couvert  de  lauriers; 
Pour  s'fair'  porter  en  l'air-e, 
Mironton,  mironton,  mironlaire, 
Pour  s'fair'  porter  en  l'air-e, 
Par  quatre  z'officiers. 

General  Pluvigne"  had  to  interfere  to  reestablish  order. 
The  victim  of  the  ovation  followed  him  into  the  next  room. 
He  formally  delivered  into  the  hands  of  his  superior  the 
papers  he  had  come  near  losing  in  the  tussle,  and  gave 
a  brief  account  of  his  journey  across  the  Adrar  and  Western 
Sahara,  detailing  with  more  particulars  his  visit  to  the 
camp  of  Bou-Amel.  The  General  asked  him  to  embody 
in  a  written  report  an  approximate  evaluation  of  the 
Saharan  forces.  Then  d'Ornano  broached  the  subject 
of  Mile,  de  Diolie.     His  chief  interrupted  him. 

"I  already  know  something  of  this  part  of  your  ad- 
ventures," he  said.  "  My  arrangements  have  been  made  in 
consequence.  As  I  have  every  reason  to  fear  that  a  general 
uprising  of  the  Ouled-Sidi-Sheiks  will  endanger  our  com- 
munications with  the  north  within  a  week,  an  armored 
train  carrying  all  papers  of  importance  will  leave  to-night 
for  the  coast.  Mile,  de  Diolie  will  be  sent  to  Mascara,  or 
Oran,  if  she  prefers.  As  soon  as  I  can  conveniently  rescue 
you  from  the  enthusiasm  of  your  friends,  I  propose  to  go 
and  congratulate  her  on  her  escape." 


218        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

"And  what  do  you  intend  to  do  with  me?"  asked  the 
Corsican.  "Are  you  also  going  to  send  me  to  head- 
quarters?" 

"Perhaps  .  .  .  unless  you  insist  upon  awaiting  Bou. 
Amel  here,"  smiled  the  General.  "We  shall  speak  of  that 
later.  Meanwhile  we  are  to  remember  that  your  comrades 
are  waiting.  Have  the  kindness  to  press  the  electric 
button." 

D'Ornano  obeyed.     An  orderly  appeared  in  the  door. 

"You  can  serve  the  punch,"  said  the  General.  "It 
will  induce  these  gentlemen  to  be  patient  a  minute 
longer." 

The  punch  was  already  steaming  in  glasses,  and  all  had 
taken  place  around  the  table,  when  d'Ornano  and  the 
General  made  their  appearance.  A  continuous  fire  of 
applause  followed  their  progress  across  the  room.  It  sub- 
sided as  soon  as  General  Pluvigne*  made  a  plea  for  silence. 
His  glass  raised,  he  began  to  speak: 

"Gentlemen.  After  the  spontaneous  ovation  you  have 
just  witnessed,  it  will  hardly  be  necessary  for  me  to  intro- 
duce our  guest.  Captain  d'Ornano  is  back.  Of  all  who 
heard  the  news  this  afternoon,  there  is  not,  I  suppose,  a 
second  lieutenant  who  has  forgotten  how,  fifteen  months 
ago,  the  column  sent  under  Captains  Monnier  and  Trafaeli, 
to  make  a  general  survey  of  the  projected  Saharan  railroad, 
made  on  the  stage  of  the  world  a  startling  reappearance. 
The  two  chiefs  of  the  expedition  had  added  their  names 
to  the  already  long  list  of  Saharan  martyrs.  The  column 
had  been  ambushed,  attacked  and  nearly  overwhelmed  by 
Moslem  hordes.  The  man  who,  not  content  to  rally  his 
companions  under  fire  and  to  lead  them  back  to  the  coast, 


THE   FOURTH  GALON  219 

insisted  that  the  French  Army,  and  the  nation  behind  it, 
should  not  be  defeated  in  their  purpose,  stands  at  my 
right. 

"To-day  he  comes  back  alone.  Marakesh  has  fallen 
with  all  its  defenders.  I  must  do  Captain  d'Ornano  the 
justice  to  say  that  he  remained  in  the  thick  of  the  m£le*e 
up  to  the  eleventh  hour.  Heroism  of  the  easier  kind  would 
have  led  him  to  await  death  in  a  futile  attempt  to  stem 
the  tide.  He  hearkened  to  the  voice  of  the  higher  duty 
urging  him  to  save  at  all  cost  documents  of  a  nature  to 
lighten  the  labor  and  cost  of  reconquest;  and  he  gives 
us  all  the  measure  of  his  courage  by  daring  to  reappear 
among  us  a  man  who  for  once  retreated  before  the 
Moslem. 

"Perhaps  we  have  forgotten  the  lessons  of  history. 
Defeated  by  Hannibal,  a  Roman  consul  dared,  after 
Cannae,  reappear  in  the  Senate  to  tell  the  tale  of  public 
disaster.  The  lesson  of  civic  virtue  given  that  day  by  the 
'  patres  conscripti '  of  old  Rome  has  no  equivalent  but  the 
renunciation  of  Regulus.  Varo  was  thanked  by  the 
leader  of  the  Senate  '  for  not  having  doubted  of  the  Repub- 
lic/ In  the  name  of  the  French  Army,  I  now  propose  to 
thank  Captain  d'Ornano  for  not  having  doubted  of  his 
brothers. 

"I  take  this  opportunity  to  remind  you  that  Figuig  is 
threatened  as  Marakesh  was  threatened.  It  is  the  mission 
of  the  eight  thousand  troops  garrisoning  the  oasis  to  prevent 
a  junction  of  the  Moslem  forces.  Figuig, '  the  thorn  in  the 
eye  of  Abd-er-Rhaman/  must  hold  out  long  enough  to 
enable  the  French  armies  to  concentrate.  In  a  week  we 
shall  see,  surging  at  the  foot  of  our  defences,  one  hundred 


220        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

and  twenty  thousand  fanatics  ready  to  die  at  a  word  of  their 
religious  chiefs. 

"It  is  an  open  secret  that  only  one  of  our  bastions  can 
be  made  impregnable.  Two  companies  of  the  Foreign 
Legion  and  two  sections  of  field  and  mountain  artillery  will, 
to-morrow,  join  in  Tarla  the  company  of  Colonial  Infantry 
now  garrisoning  the  fort.  But,  as  the  strength  of  a  fortress 
depends  above  all  on  the  spirit  of  its  chief,  it  is  to  Captain 
d'Ornano  I  intend  to  intrust  the  difficult  task  of  holding 
against  all  comers  the  pass  of  the  Wad-el-Haluf.  You 
have  already  guessed  that  three  companies  and  a  battery 
cannot  be  given  to  a  captain.  Therefore,  gentlemen,  I 
bid  you  drink  to  the  fourth  galon  of  our  new  Major." 

A  thunder  of  applause  followed  the  announcement. 
Sore  hearts  there  were,  to  be  sure,  but  none  below  and 
above  the  grade  of  captain,  an  excellent  indication  that 
d'Ornano's  good  fortune  would  soon  be  forgiven  him  by 
the  others.  Superseded  as  he  was,  Captain  Jarchin  was 
not  among  the  envious.  He  was  the  first  to  extend  his 
congratulations  to  his  new  chief. 

General  Pluvigne*  gave  the  Corsican  ten  minutes  in 
which  to  thank  his  comrades  for  their  welcome.  Then  he 
hurried  him  out.  On  the  stairs  they  met  Capo  di  Borgo. 
For  all  the  haste  he  had  made,  the  Lieutenant  came  just 
in  time  to  see  the  curtain  fall.  D'Ornano  accepted  his 
congratulations  and  attempted  to  console  him  by  telling 
him  that  there  still  remained  some  punch.  They  learned 
from  him  that  Mile,  de  Diolie  had  gone  to  the  Catholic 
mission  of  the  White  Fathers  of  Figuig,  in  El-Hamam 
Superior. 

Thither  they  went.     A  relation  of  their  visit  appears  in 


THE   FOURTH  GALON  221 

Gisele's  diary  at  the  date  of  May  5th.     The  hand  is 
scarcely  legible,  and  tears  seem  to  have  fallen  on  the  pages: 

El-Hamam  Superior,  Figuig. — I  hardly  know  where  to  begin.  I 
go  over  the  last  pages  of  my  diary  with  a  strange  feeling  of  disgust  and 
lassitude.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  person  who  wrote  those  lines  has 
so  completely  ceased  to  be  myself  that  I  am  almost  tempted  to  smile 
as  I  realize  bow  seldom  in  those  pages  I  have  attempted  in  earnest 
to  see  clearly  into  my  heart.  Alas!  the  only  thing  which  is  clear  is 
that  a  girl  is  a  creature  of  unconscious  hypocrisy  who,  for  fear  of 
sinning  against  womanhood,  will  never  dare  tear  off  her  own  mask. 
If  it  was  of  any  importance  it  would  be  pitiful  to  acknowledge  that 
we  are  the  victims  of  an  ideal  of  modesty.  But  who  cares  ?  Nobody; 
not  even  myself. 

For  the  first  time  in  over  a  month  I  find  myself  in  a  room,  a  real 
room.  There  is  only  a  bed,  the  table  where  I  write,  three  chairs,  a 
bronze  crucifix  on  the  wall  and  some  religious  books.  But  everything 
is  beautifully  clean,  and  my  first  hour  in  the  mission  was  delightfully 
restful.  My  immediate  care  was  for  a  much-needed  change  of  cos- 
tume. All  I  have,  aside  from  the  garments  borrowed  from  Dje'ilma, 
is  the  riding  dress  I  wore  on  the  afternoon  of  our  flight  from 
Marakesh.  I  spoke  of  my  desire  to  obtain  European  garments,  and 
the  reverend  fathers  promised  to  send  me  to-morrow  a  Spanish 
woman,  now  the  wife  of  an  adjutant,  who  has  served  her  apprentice- 
ship as  a  dressmaker. 

Even  in  this  monastic  cell,  I  am  so  distracted  by  noises  that  the 
observations  just  noted  down,  trivial  as  they  are,  did  not  go  without 
an  effort.  My  room  takes  up  the  whole  width  of  the  building.  It 
was  meant  for  a  parlor,  and  I  fear  it  will  soon  be  transformed  into  a 
hospital.  I  have  two  windows.  One  gives  on  the  oasis,  and  it  is 
there  that  I  have  set  my  table.  Spiced  with  the  tart  fragrance  of 
pepper  trees,  the  air  is  as  exhilarating  as  strong  wine.  There  are 
thousands  of  pigeons  in  the  sycamores.  Near  the  noria  well,  punctu- 
ating bad  language  with  the  blows  of  his  matrack,  a  native  squanders 
a  wealth  of  curses  on  a  blindfolded  mule.  This  amuses  me,  in  spite 
of  my  sadness;  and  all  attempts  at  concentration  are  defeated  by  the 
strident  call  of  grasshoppers. 


222        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

I  keep  on  writing,  discursively,  I  know,  and  without  aim,  solely  to 
answer  a  need  of  expression  almost  physical.  At  the  other  window 
it  is  still  worse.  There  is  a  court-house  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
street,  and  next  to  it  a  native  school.  The  court-house  is  full  of 
beggars  and  loafers  who,  cooling  their  feet  in  the  basin  receiving  the 
spray  of  a  fountain,  roar  in  perfect  contempt  of  court  at  each  new 
denunciation  of  a  woman  who  wants  a  divorce  on  the  ground  of  gross 
neglect.  She  speaks  through  a  wicket,  not  sparing  the  judge,  who 
sits  cross-legged  on  his  prayer-carpet,  and  listlessly  plays  with  his 
beads,  a  single  detail  of  her  conjugal  disappointments.  Her  husband 
stands  before  the  cadi,  interrupting  from  time  to  time  to  utter  a  timid 
protest  quickly  silenced  under  a  new  volley  of  curses  and  hysterical 
shrieks. 

Near  by,  threescore  small  boys,  so  dirty  that  flies  hover  in  clouds 
around  their  faces,  squat  on  a  worn  matting  of  palmetto  leaves, 
bawling  at  the  top  of  their  voices  the  alif,  ba,  ta,  dza  ...  of  the  Arabic 
alphabet.  The  old  fokih,  his  eyes  burned  with  ophthalmia,  is  half 
blind.  For  this  reason,  the  justice  he  deals  is  impartial.  Whenever 
order  is  disturbed — and  Heaven  knows  that  these  semi-naked 
barbarians  are  as  fond  of  questionable  pranks  as  other  boys — he 
reaches  for  a  long  bamboo  pole  and  begins  to  dust  the  crowd,  bliss- 
fully unaware  that  his  blows  fall  mostly  on  the  matting. 

I  close  both  windows  and  try  to  muster  my  courage.  A  company 
of  infantry,  with  drums  and  bugles,  passes  by,  and  I  catch  myself 
listening.  It  is  my  cue,  perhaps.  At  this  hour,  at  the  head  of  his 
Legionaries,  Captain  d'Ornano  is  also  on  the  road,  on  his  way  to 
the  fort  of  the  Wad-el-Haluf .  Did  I  say  Captain  d'Ornano  ?  General 
Pluvigne"s  first  words,  after  I  had  given  him  my  hand  yesterday, 
were:  "Mademoiselle,  there  is  a  fourth  stripe  to  sew  on  these  sleeves. 
We  have  just  made  .  .  .  No,  I  am  mistaken.  Your  friend  d'Ornano 
has  just  made  himself  a  major." 

I  was  taken  by  surprise.  I  became  purple,  I  am  afraid,  and  I  am 
sure  that  my  words  of  congratulation  were  uncertain  and  long  in 
coming.  The  visit  had  been  entirely  unexpected.  For  the  first  time 
in  four  days  I  had  had  time  to  think  of  my  cousin,  of  Sidi-Malik  and 
Djeilma.    The  review  of  the  past  events  had  worked  me  into  a  state 


THE  FOURTH  GALON  223 

of  extreme  nervousness.     I  thank  God  for  the  fact  that  General 
Pluvigne"  immediately  came  to  my  relief  by  speaking  of  my  father. 

It  has  been  a  long  time  since  I  wept  so  blissfully  and  so  long.  For 
a  heart  full  to  overflowing  there  is  perhaps  no  better  place  than  the 
shoulder  of  an  old  man  and  a  friend.  Captain  d'Ornano — Major 
d'Ornano,  I  mean — did  not  stay  long.  I  fancy  that  my  stupid  tears 
made  him  feel  uncomfortable.  He  left,  saying  that  he  was  going  to  the 
garden  and  would  come  back  to  say  good-by.  It  was  thus  that  I  was 
informed  that  my  departure  was  scheduled  to  take  place  in  an  hour. 

I  shall  put  a  line  of  points  here,  even  if  it  is  a  feminine  hypocrisy. 
There  are  thoughts  which  are  my  own  to  keep  forever  inviolate  and 
words  which  cannot  pass  my  lips.  There  are  also  remembrances 
which  burn  like  a  hot  brand.  I  feel  like  hating  General  Pluvigne\ 
in  spite,  or  because,  of  his  kindness.  Above  all,  I  hate  myself.  To 
try  to  remember  the  ridiculous  scene  causes  me  to  make  too  many 
disagreeable  discoveries.  What  does  the  General  think  of  me? 
What  did  he  surmise  ?  He  must  have  thought  I  was  insane  when  I 
told  him  that  I  was  too  sick  to  leave,  that  nobody  but  my  cousin  could 
decently  take  me  home,  and  that,  moreover,  it  had  been  my  ambition 
to  serve  as  a  nurse  in  the  hospital  corps.  I  flush  at  the  thought  that 
the  light  of  puzzled  perplexity  in  his  eyes  may  have  been  fifty  per  cent 
friendly  interest,  and  the  rest  pity  or  sarcasm.  He  is  old,  I  know. 
He  was  father's  friend.  He  did  not  attempt  to  confess  me,  and  he 
gave  me  an  hour  to  recover  my  senses.  Yet  I  cannot  bear  the 
thought  of  having  been  seen  in  this  attitude.  In  spite  of  all,  I  fear 
that  every  lieutenant  in  Figuig,  learning  the  story,  will  presently 
come  under  my  window  to  scratch  a  guitar  and  claim  his  share  of  my 
heart. 

May  7th. — Major  d'Ornano  telephones  that,  the  day  before 
yesterday,  he  wrote  to  Si-Hamza  in  behalf  of  George  and  Sidi-Malik. 
He  expects  an  answer  to  night. 

May  Sth. — I  begin  my  duties  under  Doctor  Dugon  and  his  assistant 
Farlede.  The  hospital  is  almost  empty.  We  have  seven  fever  cases. 
But  I  am  told  that  this  period  of  quiet  will  not  last  long.  Abd-er- 
Rhaman  is  preparing  to  attack  Colomb-Bechar. 


224        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

May  9th. — The  oasis  is  a  gigantic  camp.  Troops  are  incessantly 
crossing  the  square.  The  house  of  General  Pluvigne*  is  besieged  by 
estafettes.  It  appears  that  Bou-Amel  has  covered  with  his  harka 
the  distance  separating  Igli  from  Ain-Chair.  I  am  still  without  news 
of  George  and  Sidi-Malik.  Major  d'Ornano  calls  me  by  telephone 
and  tells  me  he  will  come  down  to-morrow.  His  promotion  to  the 
grade  of  major  has  been  gazetted  this  morning  in  the  Journal  Officiel. 
The  good  news  has  reached  him  by  wire  and  he  is  anxious  to  have  his 
stripe  sewed  on. 

May  10th. — The  stripe  is  sewn.  If  our  friend  did  not  ask  me  why 
I  am  wearing  the  uniform  of  a  hospital  nurse,  it  must  be  that  he 
guesses.  I  scarcely  dare  speak  to  him.  His  first  care,  when  we  met, 
was  to  show  me  a  letter  from  his  friend  Si-Hamza.  The  message  was 
written  in  French.  It  is  so  thoroughly  characteristic  of  a  modem 
descendant  of  the  Prophet  that  I  add  it  to  my  journal. 

"El-Abiod-Sidi-Sheikh,  May  7th. 

"My  dear  d'Ornano:  I  am  acting  on  your  suggestion.  My 
uncle  Mokrani  and  two  of  my  cousins  are  starting  for  Igli  this  after- 
noon and  will  not  leave  a  stone  unturned.  Your  friends  will  be 
located  and  rescued  if  it  depends  only  on  my  good-will.  It  is  true  that 
all  the  good  intentions  in  the  world  seem  just  now  to  be  of  little  avail 
and  you  must  not  be  surprised  if,  within  a  day  or  two,  you  learn  that 
I  am  leading  the  Ouled-Sidi-Sheiks  against  Figuig.  You  have 
already  guessed  that  I  am  acting  under  compulsion.  My  relatives 
would  long  ago  have  proclaimed  that  the  baraka  of  my  ancestors  has 
ceased  to  follow  the  direct  line,  had  it  not  been  that  Abd-er-Rhaman, 
hoping  to  the  last  to  convince  me  that  victory  will  not,  this  time,  desert 
the  green  banner,  raised  a  protest  in  my  favor.  Two  attempts  to 
poison  me  have  been  made.    The  third  might  prove  successful. 

"Abd-er-Rhaman  knows  that  ever  since  I  sent  in  my  resignation 
as  lieutenant  of  spahis  to  take  the  succession  of  my  father,  I  have 
used  all  my  spare  time  breaking  my  horsemen  to  European  methods 
of  warfare.  He  is  anxious  to  have  me  join  him  because  he  believes 
that,  under  me,  the  Ouled-Sidi-Sheiks  will  adhere  to  strict  military 
discipline.     He  is  in  need  of  real  troops  and  is  disposed  to  concessions. 


THE   FOURTH  GALON  225 

The  rub  is  that  I  am  more  of  a  sportsman  than  of  a  conqueror.  I 
regret  the  time  of  my  regimental  pranks,  and,  at  the  bottom  of  my 
heart,  I  yearn  for  nothing  better  than  a  stroll  on  Paris  boulevards. 

"  I  have  not  told  Abd-er-Rhaman  that  the  Koran  has  made  room 
for  Gyp  and  Jean  Lorrain  on  my  bookshelves.  It  is  enough  for  him 
to  know  that  my  very  firm  impression  is  that  the  nut  he  has  started  to 
crack  will  prove  too  hard  for  his  teeth.  Since  I  cannot,  at  the  same 
time,  content  myself  and  my  people,  I  will  satisfy  my  people;  which 
is,  at  least  the  duty  of  a  good  chief.  I  think  you  know  me  sufficiently 
well  to  conceive  how  sorry  I  am  to  be  thus  compelled  to  oppose  an 
army  I  love  and  my  old  friends.  I  am  especially  grieved  to  hear 
that  you,  d'Ornano,  are  in  Figuig;  the  more  so  because  I  cannot 
believe  that  Figuig  will  withstand  the  shock  of  one  hundred  and 
twenty  thousand  men.  I  wish  you  luck,  and  with  the  hope  that  you 
will  not  think  too  bitterly  of  a  rebel,  I  remain,  the  friend  of  Saint 
Cyr's  Military  Academy.  Si-Hamza." 

Major  d'Ornano  made  no  comments  and  I  asked  none.  I  believe 
he  is  sorry  for  his  friend.  I  obtained  from  the  head  surgeon  permis- 
sion to  accompany  him  this  afternoon.  He  wants  to  show  me  the 
fort  of  the  Wad-el-Haluf . 

May  11th. — The  net  is  tightening.  Driven  by  the  hordes  of 
Berbers  Abd-er-Rhaman  has  collected  around  him,  the  black  troops 
have  evacuated  Colomb-Bechar.  Bou-Amel  has  left  Aih-Chair,  and 
the  Ouled-Sidi-Sheiks  come  sweeping  down  along  the  railroad  line. 
Our  communications  are  cut  on  all  sides.  The  attitude  of  the 
natives  in  Figuig  proper  is  uncertain.  There  is  little  doubt  that 
their  sympathies  are  with  the  advancing  hordes,  yet  they  quake 
with  fear  at  the  thought  that  if  Figuig  is  taken  their  property  will  be 
plundered  by  the  conquerors.  As  far  as  I  can  judge,  we  are  in  no 
danger,  and  the  troops  show  boundless  confidence.  From  the 
Wad-el-Haluf  I  saw  yesterday  eight  bastions  crowning  the  hill- 
tops. They  are  all  strongly  garrisoned,  and  three  thousand  troops, 
ready  for  emergencies,  remain  in  the  oasis.  Major  d'Ornano 
explained  to  me  that  the  great  principle  of  warfare  is  to  bring  against 
the  weakest  point  of  an  enemy's  battle-formation  a  stronger  force 


226   IN  THE  WAKE  OF  THE  GREEN  BANNER 

than  he  can  muster  himself.  He  told  me  that  one  soldier  drilled  by 
European  methods  will  effectually  check  ten  natives.  As  General 
Pluvigne*  is  in  a  position  to  throw,  in  a  minimum  of  time,  three 
thousand  picked  troops  at  any  given  point  on  the  perimeter  of  the 
oasis,  this  seems  to  imply  that  Abd-er-Rhaman  cannot  make  a  single 
move  with  less  than  thirty  thousand  troops.  But  I  am  not  learned 
in  these  things.  It  is  enough  for  me  to  know  that  danger  is  not  im- 
mediate. 

We  have  been  informed  to-day  that  Abd-er-Rhaman  has  declared 
his  firm  intention  to  adhere  to  the  convention  of  Geneva.  Doctor 
Dugon  tells  me  that  this  is  unheard  of  in  African  warfare.  But  he 
doubts  very  much  whether  the  new  Sultan,  with  all  the  good  intentions 
in  the  world,  will  be  able  to  prevent  his  troops  from  firing  on  the 
hospital. 

May  \2th. — The  wounded  of  yesterday's  affray  are  here.  O  God! 
Why  do  men  maim  themselves  in  this  frightful  manner?  The 
hospital  attendants  are  preparing  the  operating  tables.  I  ran  and 
am  here,  quaking,  because,  through  the  window-pane,  I  saw  a  negro 
sergeant,  with  his  jaw  blown  off,  raise  himself  and  walk  a  few  steps  to 
shake  the  hand  of  the  General.  In  his  white  apron,  old  Dugon  looks 
like  a  butcher.  I  am  sick  from  the  smell  of  ether  and  chloroform. 
What  will  they  do  to  him,  who  is  up  there  ?  .  .  .  The  guns  of  the 
Wad-el-Haluf  are  booming.    It  has  begun. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

DJEiLMA  LETS  FALL  HER  HAIK 

"Is  this  one  Si-Hamza,  there,  on  the  left?" 

And  Djeilma  pointed  to  a  group  of  horsemen  who  were 
leaving  the  gorge  of  the  Wad-el-Haluf. 

"No  other,  thou  brightest  of  the  flowers  of  the  field/' 
answered  Ben-Aissa.  "  He  is  the  man  with  the  red  saddle 
and  trappings." 

"Then  Si-Hamza  is  a  very  handsome  man,  Allah 
Kerim ! "  the  Circassian  resumed  with  conviction.  "  What 
answer  did  Sheikh  Muhamed  make  when  Si-Hamza 
asked  him  to  set  Sidi  Leitoun  free  ? " 

"  Sheikh  Muhamed  said  that  Mustapha  is  a  prisoner  of 
the  Rumis,  and  until  he  is  set  free  he  could  not  let  Sidi- 
Leitoun  go.  As  for  Sidi-Malik,  he  was  grieved,  but  he 
had  long  ago  been  claimed  by  Bou-Amel.  Si-Hamza  replied 
that  he  was  sure  Mustapha  had  been  set  free  yesterday;  for 
such  was  the  agreement  that  passed  between  himself  and 
the  Nazarenes;  and  he  swore  that  Sidi  d'Ornano  would  die 
rather  than  break  a  pledge.  Si-Hamza  was  very  angry. 
Si-Hamza  swore  that  Sheikh  Muhamed  was  the  worst  of 
the  seven  liars  and  as  great  a  thief  as  his  camel  of  a  father 
before  him.  Sheikh  Muhamed  was  also  very  angry. 
Sheikh  Muhamed  swore  that  there  was  no  word  of  Mus- 
tapha.    And  it  is  true,  Sa'ida.     Had  Mustapha  been  in  the 

227 


228        IN   THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

camp,  he  would  not  have  failed  to  come  to  remind  thee  of 
the  promise  which  was  made  us  the  night  we  captured 
Sidi  Leitoun. 

"  May  the  mother  of  the  Shaitan  spit  in  thy  throat,  Ben- 
Alssa,"  screamed  the  Circassian,  suddenly  exasperated. 
"I  wish  Sidi  Leitoun  had  never  been  captured,  and  I  am 
tired  of  the  love  of  the  Ouled-Ougouni.  You  are  men  of 
faint  hearts  and  lying  tongues.  I  hear  nothing  but  compli- 
ments. Sidi  Leitoun  alone  is  man  enough  not  to  do  my 
will.  Why  should  Si-Hamza  be  the  father  of  lies  when  he 
is  handsome,  a  great  chief  and  a  rich  man?  If  Sidi 
Lei'toun  is  not  set  free  before  sunset,  I  will  myself  see  what 
can  be  done.  Who  knows  but  that  Bou-Amel  is  keeping 
Mustapha  a  prisoner  ?" 

"And  why  should  Bou-Amel  keep  him?" 

"To  avenge  himself,  Inshallah!  Art  thou  a  mule? 
Did  not  Sheikh  Muhamed  refuse  to  deliver  Sidi  Leitoun 
into  his  hands.  I  will  tell  thee  what  I  shall  do.  I  am 
going  to  Bou-Amel's  camp  to  find  out." 

"Shall  I  tell  Sheikh  Muhamed,  Saida?" 

"Thou  wilt  hold  thy  foul  tongue.  Did  I  say  that  my 
concern  was  to  help  Sheikh  Muhamed  ?  I  am  going  now. 
Get  thee  back." 

In  truth,  aside  from  helping  Si-Hamza,  who  was  so 
handsome  a  man,  her  concern  was  no  other  than  a  desire 
to  play  a  part  in  politics.  A  lingering  hope  was  also 
left  her  that  Leyton  would  perhaps  become  more  tractable 
should  she  succeed  in  restoring  him  to  freedom.  But  at 
the  bottom  of  her  determination  there  was  the  desire  of 
acting  a  part.  She  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
position  of  professional  beauty  in  a  Moslem  camp  went 


DJEILMA    LETS   FALL   HER   HAIK  229 

hand  in  hand  with  too  much  tranquillity  of  mind.  And 
what  was  the  value  of  freedom  unless  all  she  had  of  beauty 
and  resourcefulness  was  actively  employed  in  furthering 
the  purposes  of  the  men  she  admired  and  obstructing  the 
ambitions  of  those  she  hated.  Just  now  she  was  bent  upon 
finding  a  plot  which  would  give  her  the  centre  of  the  stage. 

Think  she  must,  because  she  was  a  member  of  the  Cau- 
casian family  of  nations,  and  because  intellectual  exercise 
was  as  necessary  to  her  welfare  as  physical  exercise  to  the 
bodily  health  of  Ben-Ai'ssa  or  Khadour.  She  had  happened 
to  think  of  Si-Hamza  and  Leyton  at  the  same  minute. 
Hence  an  immediate  desire  to  bridge  the  gulf  between  the 
two  men.  But  she  relied  on  inspiration  to  develop  this 
theme  into  a  plot  more  worthy  of  her  endeavor. 

If  she  had  told  Ben-Ai'ssa  of  her  intention  of  journeying 
to  Bou-Amers  camp,  it  was  either  with  a  desire  to  put  him 
on  a  false  scent  or  else  the  resolution  was  as  soon  abandoned 
as  conceived.  She  reflected  that,  before  firing  her  guns,  it 
might  be  advisable  to  ascertain  at  what  price  Si-Hamza 
was  disposed  to  buy  her  cooperation.  Since  she  was  bent 
upon  gambling,  she  owed  it  to  herself  to  play  only  for  a  high 
stake.  True  enough,  she  did  not  know  yet  what  to  ask, 
but  she  intended  to  study  the  problem  and  solve  it  before 
reaching  Dar-el-Dokkar. 

As  soon  as  she  saw  Ben-Aissa  disappear,  she  began  to  de- 
scend. The  bottom  of  the  canyon  was  filled  with  troops. 
Occasional  pools  of  water  still  glimmered  in  the  deepest 
holes,  and  the  steep  banks  afforded  shade  the  greater 
part  of  the  day.  But  between  noon  and  two  o'clock,  when 
the  sun  struck  perpendicularly,  the  rapid  ascension  of 
overheated   air  distorted    all   perspective.     It   took   her 


230        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

twenty  minutes  to  reach  the  bottom;  and  long  before  she 
came  to  the  first  tents,  she  struck  the  lower  stratum  of 
atmosphere  and  began  breathing  with  as  much  difficulty 
as  if  she  had  been  immersed  in  the  steam  of  a  Hamam 
bath.  Driss,  terebinth  and  halfa  grass  had  grown  near 
the  pools,  but  camels  and  donkeys  had  left  only  the 
stumps.  There  was  a  continual  see-saw  of  chargers  and 
beasts  of  burden  at  the  water-holes.  The  scramble  which, 
once  in  twenty-four  hours,  followed  the  shifting  of  shade 
from  east  to  west  had  resulted  in  a  hopeless  mixup  of  the 
different  tribes.  Reckless  gambling  had  done  the  rest. 
The  fire-arms  had  already  changed  hands  several  times, 
and  some  corps,  destitute  of  both  horses  and  weapons, 
were  already  unfit.  Abd-er-Rhaman,  busy  six  hours  a  day 
righting  such  wrongs,  lost  in  a  night  the  results  of  a  day's 
labor. 

For  all  that,  the  Sultan  was  slowly  bringing  order  out  of 
the  tangle,  showing  himself  to  be  no  less  of  a  statesman 
than  of  a  soldier.  The  pretensions  of  his  ministry  he  had 
cut  short  by  allowing  the  Minister  of  War  to  go  and  inquire 
about  his  crops,  and  by  sending  the  Kha'id-el-Mechouar 
on  a  pilgrimage  to  Mecca.  Knowing  that  after  a  victory  he 
would  be  able  to  levy  in  Algeria  upwards  of  two  hundred 
thousand  picked  troops,  he  had  eagerly  welcomed  Si- 
Hamza,  the  first  Algerine  to  join  him.  It  was  his  aim,  as 
soon  as  possible,  to  dispense  with  the  aid  of  the  inde- 
pendent Berbers,  and  also  with  Bou-AmeFs  Saharans, 
pirates  of  the  sands,  whose  chief  business  was,  and  always 
would  be,  to  secure  for  themselves  the  fruit  of  victories 
gained  by  others.  One  thing  he  had  already  decided  upon : 
Bou-Amel,  if  it  could  be  managed,  would  always  be  made 


DJEILMA    LETS   FALL   HER   HAIK  231 

to  fight  where  more  blows  than  glory  were  to  be  had.  And 
still  he  would  get  more  than  he  deserved,  since  he  was  in 
a  position  to  enforce  his  claim  to  a  share  of  one-fourth  of 
all  plunder. 

From  the  first,  the  chieftain  had  played  into  his  hands. 
Ordered  to  send  the  Tuaregg  back  to  In-Salah,  and 
compelled  by  popular  clamor  to  dismiss  the  objectionable 
contingent,  he  had  figured  that  such  ready  compliance  on 
his  part  was  worth  a  compensation,  and  had  lost  no  time 
in  asking  for  a  favor.  Transfuges  from  the  oasis  had 
brought  word  that  d'Ornano  was  stationed  in  the  bastion 
commanding  Figuig's  easiest  entrance:  the  gorge  of  the 
Wad-el-Haluf.  As  this  fort,  by  reason  of  its  isolation, 
seemed  to  invite  capture,  Bou-Amel  had  asked  leave  to 
besiege  it,  calculating  that  a  victorious  assault  would  not 
only  enable  him  to  settle  an  old  score,  but  would  open 
Figuig  to  his  raiders.  Abd-er-Rhaman  had  granted  the 
permission. 

In  so  doing  he  had  managed  to  satisfy  four  people.  It 
is  true  that  Bou-Amel's  feeling  of  gratification  turned  to 
insane  rage  as  soon  as  he  discovered  how  hard  to  crack 
would  be  the  nut  he  had  reserved  for  himself;  but  the 
Sultan's  and,  above  all,  d'Ornano's  delight  were  of  a  more 
lasting  nature.  Both  beheld  with  the  greatest  exultation 
the  mowing  down  of  the  Saharan  troops  as  they  attempted, 
under  the  fire  of  machine-guns,  to  climb  the  almost  per- 
pendicular cliff  of  sandstone  embanking  the  Wad-el-Haluf. 
The  fourth  man  was  Si-Hamza. 

So  far  there  had  been  no  steady  advance  of  infantry, 
no  attempt  to  gain  and  hold  an  advantageous  position. 
Rapid  dashes  of  cavalry  had  simply  drawn  the  enemy's 


232        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE    GREEN   BANNER 

fire  to  ascertain  its  volume,  while  scouting  parties  had 
been  busy  making  a  survey  of  the  trenches.  Figuig  lay 
still  so  far  away  that  the  whole  of  Abd-er-Rhaman's 
army,  encamped  out  of  gunshot,  flooded  a  wilderness  of 
rocks  and  gullies.  This  unusual  number  of  men  en- 
camped in  these  barren  wastes  raised  the  question  of 
subsistence  and  seemed  altogether  unnatural.  Only  oc- 
casional glimpses  of  the  oasis  could  be  obtained,  and  those 
only  in  places  swept  by  gun-fire.  Men  were  swarming  the 
sands  like  vermin.  Some  were  black,  and  some  were  only 
of  swarthy  complexion.  Some  were  on  horseback,  and 
some  on  foot.  There  were  Berbers  with  red  hair  and  blue 
eyes;  Moors  and  Jews  looking  very  much  alike;  lean 
M'zabites  who  loaned  money  on  weapons  and  sold  dates. 
There  were  horses,  camels,  hairy  Spanish  mules,  herds  of 
sheep,  goats  and  braying  donkeys.  There  were  sloughi 
greyhounds  and  yellow  curs  of  an  impossible  breed. 
Tents  of  all  sizes,  shapes  and  colors,  and  gourbis  made  of 
heterogeneous  materials,  sheltered  the  throng.  Here  a 
man  slept  naked  in  the  sun,  his  head  protected  by  his 
prayer-carpet.  There,  a  grinning  dead  horse,  with  yellow 
teeth,  was  inflating,  and  near  by  a  donkey  covered  with 
sores  rolled  himself  in  the  dust.  Yonder  a  giant  negro 
howled  because  he  had  been  bitten  by  a  baboon,  and  near 
him  a  child  led  a  blind  lion  by  the  rope.  A  crowd  of 
twenty  men  had  taken  the  trail  after  a  mad  dog  which  ran 
away,  dejected,  his  tail  between  his  legs,  one  eye  put  out 
with  a  stone,  biting  right  and  left.  Here  some  deserters 
from  an  Algerine  regiment  were  playing  true  with  Spanish 
cards.  Over  there  a  few  youngsters  were  stoning  an  old 
woman.     There  were  players  of  tom-tom  and  derbukkhar 


DJEILMA   LETS  FALL  HER  HAIK  233 

snake-charmers,  medicine-men,  Aissaoua,  quacks  and  all 
manner  of  fanatics  and  fakirs.  Some  women,  who  had 
been  bathing,  were  being  kicked  out  of  a  water-hole  by  an 
enraged  camel-driver.  There  were  handsome  young 
fellows  with  the  face,  the  locks  and  the  demeanor  of  a 
Christ;  and  there  were  loathsome  specimens  of  humanity 
crumbling,  eaten,  dissociated  by  the  most  horrible  of 
diseases.  And,  above  all,  there  was  noise:  the  infernal 
bustling,  thumping,  lovable  and  ear-rending  uproar  of  the 
Oriental  mobs.  These  people  were  as  alive  as  green  flies 
upon  a  carcass,  and  as  filthy  and  ill-smelling  as  the  carcass 
itself.  They  were  quarrelling;  for  there  were  women  and 
worse.  But  for  all  that  they  were  picturesque,  human,  full 
of  good  and  bad — mostly  bad.  Those  who  had  garments 
at  all  knew  how  to  dress,  and  all  knew  how  to  die.  And 
all  would  have  their  heads  broken  because  they  were  un- 
willing to  concede  that  other  men  might  believe  that  Allah 
is  Allah  without  admitting  at  the  same  time  that  Muhamed 
is  the  Prophet  of  the  Most  High. 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  multitude  that  Djeilma  came 
unexpectedly  upon  Anoun-Dialo.  The  Senegalese  seemed 
to  be  in  great  haste.  He  did  not  recognize  the  Circassian 
under  the  veil,  and  she  hesitated  to  call  him.  Then  she 
reflected  that  it  was  not  here,  in  such  a  throng,  when  he 
had  so  many  good  reasons  for  concealing  his  identity,  that 
the  negro  could  offer  her  any  violence.  Unable  to  resist 
the  impulse  to  give  him  a  good  scare,  she  ran  after  him  and 
caught  him  by  his  burnous. 

"Ya  illah,  Anoun-Dialo,"  she  laughed.  "Whither  art 
thou  going?" 

Thunderstruck,  the  giant  wheeled  around.     The  realiza- 


234        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

tion  that  he  had  fallen  into  the  clutches  of  the  witch  who 
had  engineered  Leyton's  and  Sidi-Malik's  capture  brought 
an  ashy  pallor  on  his  face.  His  first  thought  was  to  run. 
To  free  himself,  he  gave  a  vigorous  shake  to  the  burnous. 
Djeilma  was  compelled  to  let  go.  But  she  caught  him  with 
the  other  hand. 

"Barca!"  she  said  sharply.  "That's  enough.  The 
Wad-el-Haluf  is  a  good  place  for  a  man-hunt.  Remember 
that  Bou-Amel  is  at  one  end  of  the  canyon  and  Sheikh 
Muhamed  at  the  other." 

She  added  immediately,  in  a  less  threatening  tone: 

"  I  want  no  harm  to  befall  thee,  Anoun-Dialo.  We  have 
no  quarrel.  But  I  must  learn  why  Mustapha  was  not  set 
free  yesterday." 

"  Him  sick,"  the  negro  answered  promptly,  happy  of  the 
chance  to  propitiate  at  so  small  a  cost  a  creature  he  had 
come  to  identify  with  the  imp  of  the  perverse.  "Him 
wounded  yesterday  by  bullet  from  Bou-Amel's  camp. 
Sidi  d'Ornano  send  him  to  the  hospital  in  Figuig.  Sa'ida 
watch  over  him.  Him  not  much  bad;  only  his  knee-cap 
broken." 

"Does  Sheikh  Muhamed  know  this?" 

Anoun-Dialo  vouchsafed  no  reply. 

"DoesSi-Hamza?" 

Same  silence.     She  asked  again: 

"Whither  art  thou  going?" 

Anoun-Dialo's  right  arm  went  from  east  to  west  in  an 
uncertain  gesture.  Then  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
said  a  single  word,  the  dissyllable  Moghrabis  invariably 
oppose  to  unwelcome  questioning:     " Manarf." 

"Thou  dost  not  know,  eh?"  the  Circassian  resumed. 


DJEILMA   LETS   FALL  HER  HAlK  235 

"Well,  I  also  go  to  Si-Hamza.  He  went  by  half  an  hour 
ago;  so  it  is  useless  to  seek  him  here.  We  shall  go  together 
to  Dar-el-Dokkar." 

If  the  negro  felt  a  pang,  he  remained  master  of  his 
emotion.  At  any  rate,  he  gave  no  sign  of  an  intention  to 
move. 

"Aroua,  mena,"  Djeilma  went  on.  "Thou  art  going  to 
Si-Hamza.  I  know  it.  Shall  I  tell  thee  more?  Sidi 
d'Ornano  gave  thee  a  letter  for  Si-Hamza  telling  him  that 
Mustapha  had  met  with  an  accident.  If  thou  art  caught 
with  it,  it  will  be  known  that  thou  art  a  spy  of  the  Rumis." 
•  The  Yolof  was  the  picture  of  stupefaction. 

"  Mleh  kateer,  Akh  arbi!"  exclaimed  Djeilma  with  un- 
concealed satisfaction.  "Now  ideas  begin  to  enter  thy 
black  head.  Listen  to  me.  What  will  Sheikh  Muhamed 
say  when  he  learns  that  Mustapha  is  sick?  He  will  say 
that  Sidi  d'Ornano  has  sent  Mustapha  to  the  hospital  to  be 
poisoned  by  the  Rumi  doctors.  Is  it  not  so,  by  Bebee 
Miriam?  I  know  thy  thoughts.  Thou  art  afraid  and 
Sidi  d'Ornano  is  afraid  that  Sheikh  Muhamed  will  seek 
revenge  on  Sidi  Leitoun." 

Anoun-Dialo  walked  a  little  faster.  Djeilma  smiled 
under,  the  haik. 

"  I  can  read  the  letter  in  spite  of  thy  burnous,"  she  went 
on,  resolved  to  carry  the  mystification  to  its  limits.  "Sidi 
d'Ornano  prays  Si-Hamza  to  make  haste  to  rescue  Sidi 
Leitoun  before  Sheikh  Muhamed  learns  of  Mustapha's 
misfortune.  If  I  speak,  Sidi  Leitoun  is  lost.  If  I  speak 
now,  thou  wilt  be  hunted  down  through  the  canyon  like  a 
mad  dog.  But  thou  wilt  do  as  I  bid  thee  and  I  shall  not 
speak." 


236        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

There  was  no  resisting  the  argument.  As  it  was  not  the 
first  time  Anoun-Dialo  had  met  with  blackmail,  he  de- 
clared readily  enough  his  willingness  to  serve  her.  This 
implied  a  large  share  of  what  casuists  call  the  restriction  of 
conscience;  but  it  all  entered  into  Dje'ilma's  reckoning. 
And,  moreover,  to  make  assurance  doubly  sure,  she  made 
the  negro  swear.  This  was  a  mere  formality,  for  she  had 
already  hit  upon  a  simple  plan  which  left  no  room  for 
faithlessness.  It  consisted  in  getting  hold  of  d'Ornano's 
letter. 

"Thou  wilt  go  to  Si-Hamza  and  deliver  thyself  thy 
message,"  she  dictated.  "Then  thou  wilt  tell  him  that  I 
came  to  speak  about  the  ways  of  freeing  Sidi  Lei'toun." 

"Sidi  Le'itoun  alone  ?"  asked  the  negro,  "  or  Sidi-Malik 
with  him?" 

"May  Sidi-Malik  go  to  Jehanum!"  came  the  reply. 
"He  may  be  dead  now,  for  aught  I  care.  If  Si-Hamza 
wants  Sidi-Malik,  let  him  go  to  Bou-Amel.  I  speak  of 
Sidi  Lei'toun  only.  Dost  thou  know  where  to  find  Si- 
Hamza?" 

Anoun-Dialo  did  not  know.  As  she  had  expected,  he 
was  totally  unacquainted  with  the  layout  of  the  Moslem 
lines.  Instead  of  leading  him  to  Si-Hamza's  headquarters, 
she  struck  for  the  imperial  camp,  trusting  to  luck. 

It  did  not  fail  her  in  this  instance.  When  they  reached 
Dar-el-Dokkar,  Abd-er-Rhaman  was  just  coming  back 
from  a  reconnoitring  tour.  Si-Hamza  was  with  him. 
After  all  other  troops  had  been  withdrawn,  they  had  re- 
mained to  watch  the  blunders  of  Bou-Amel.  Mad  as  a 
bull,  the  Saharan  chieftain  had  all  the  afternoon  been 
throwing  his  Berbers  against  d'Ornano's  Gibraltar.     Not 


DJEILMA   LETS   FALL  HER   HAIK  237 

only  at  each  attempt  had  his  men  gone  down  the  slope  much 
faster  than  they  had  climbed  it,  but  he  had  himself  taken  a 
plunge  from  his  horse  and  been  wounded  in  the  hand  by 
an  exploding  shell.  This  was  the  second  time  he  had  been 
made  to  bite  the  dust  by  the  same  adversary.  To  avenge 
both  wounds  he  had  undertaken  a  regular  siege,  throwing 
up  useless  trenches  which  he  could  not  leave  for  a  minute 
without  exposing  himself  to  decimating  fire  from  above. 
In  vain  had  Abd-er-Rhaman  pointed  out  to  him  his  mistake. 
Bou-Amel  opposed  to  all  reasoning  an  obstinate  determina- 
tion to  storm  the  place.  He  had  already  lost  three  hundred 
men.  These  must  and  would  be  avenged,  if  he  had  to 
wait  until  Figuig  had  fallen  to  surround  d'Ornano  from 
every  side  and  starve  him  out. 

Abd-er-Rhaman  had  sent  a  German  engineer  to  the  old 
man  with  instructions  calculated  to  help  him  obtain  a 
semblance  of  result.  The  German  came  back  half  an 
hour  later.  Boasting  that  he  was  already  waging  a  strong 
man's  war  when  Abd-er-Rhaman  was  yet  a  child,  Bou- 
Amel  had  declared  his  determination  to  storm  d'Ornano's 
stronghold  without  having  recourse  to  the  deviltry  of  Rumi 
dogs.     He  was  not  in  need  of  engineers,  but  of  guns. 

Stung  to  the  quick  by  an  answer  evidently  meant  for  a 
slight,  Abd-er-Rhaman  left  the  field  in  anger.  Anoun- 
Dialo  and  Djeilma  came  upon  him  just  as  he  was  reaching 
Dar-el-Dokkar — a  well,  a  house  and  a  few  palms  which 
broke  agreeably  the  dreariness  of  the  landscape.  Although 
he  was  accompanied  by  more  than  a  hundred  sheiks, 
kha'ids,  aghas  and  bashaghas  attired  in  all  hues,  the  spot- 
less white  of  his  garments,  and,  above  all,  the  crescent- 
surmounted  red  umbrella  which  a  black  slave  raised  high 


238        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

above  his  head,  made  him  an  easy  mark  for  recognition. 
Djeilma  watched  Anoun-Dialo.  The  negro  was  thorough- 
ly impressed.  It  would  not  be  difficult  to  get  hold  of  the 
paper. 

It  was  the  hour  of  prayer,  and  they  were  compelled  to 
wait.  Abd-er-Rhaman  stood  still,  a  rug  of  brilliant  hues 
under  the  hoofs  of  his  charger.  Surrounding  a  barefoot 
iman  in  green  gandourah,  sheiks  and  khaids  were  also 
silent  and  motionless.  Foot  soldiers  on  all  fours  prayed, 
faces  in  the  dust,  their  crude  weapons  lying  in  front  of 
them.  The  headless  bodies  of  deserters,  stragglers  and 
criminals  lay  facing  the  Sultan,  smearing  with  blood  the 
thirsty  sands.  Behind  the  figures,  the  uniformity  of  cold 
gray  walls  served  to  bring  into  relief  the  high  lights  and 
shadows  on  horses  and  garments.  A  flaming  sunset  blazed 
beyond.  On  the  rim  of  the  canyon  which  fled  towards  the 
north,  an  unbroken  wall  of  all  hues,  scarcely  discernible 
figures  of  camel-drivers  faced  the  east.  The  cold  blues 
and  purples  of  the  foreground  emphasized  the  religious 
expression  of  faces,  and  beyond,  lilac,  mauve  and  lavender, 
in  superposed  tones,  gave  value  to  the  unfathomable  per- 
spective which  rolled  towards  the  northern  mountains, 
cobalt  blue  in  the  powdered  pink  light  that  reached  half- 
way to  the  zenith. 

At  no  time  could  Abd-er-Rhaman  appear  greater  than 
at  this  moment,  when  he  was  in  truth  God's  elect,  a 
shepherd  of  souls  and  a  national  champion,  the  very  sword 
of  Islam.  While  the  imans  sang  the  words  of  the  surat, 
Djeilma  received  from  above  the  inspiration  she  was 
seeking.  She  pictured  to  herself  victorious  Moslem  hordes 
surging  around  the  Khalif  who  brandished  the  green  ban- 


DJEILMA   LETS   FALL  HER  HAIK  239 

ner,  while  the  scarlet  sun,  ready  to  sink  below  the  violet 
line,  left  behind  it  silver  nails  in  a  pale  sky. 

She  now  knew  what  to  ask.  Stirred  by  the  desire  for 
immediate  action,  she  caught  Anoun-Dialo  by  his  burnous. 

"Go,"  she  said.  "Now  is  the  time.  Si-Hamza  is  the 
man  in  red  at  the  left  of  Our  Lord  Abd-er-Rhaman-es- 
Sheriff." 

As  she  had  expected,  the  negro  shook  his  head.  The 
giant  on  whose  shoulders  Abd-er-Rhaman  had  travelled 
the  night  of  the  attempted  kidnapping  in  the  KutubiaVas 
too  easy  to  recognize.  A  Sultan  who  feared  so  little 
the  sight  of  decapitated  bodies  might  take  a  fancy  to  add 
a  new  head  to  those  already  before  him.  Anoun-Dialo 
declared  that  he  was  in  no  hurry  and  that  he  would  rather 
wait  until  Si-Hamza  had  left  his  master. 

"But  Si-Hamza  will  stay  with  the  Sultan  a  long  time," 
Djeilma  expostulated  in  apparent  distress.  "If  Sidi 
Leitoun  is  not  rescued  to-night,  to-morrow  will  be  too  late. 
Give  me  Sidi  d'Ornano's  karta.     I  will  carry  it  myself." 

Anoun-Dialo  hesitated.  But  he  reflected  that  he  was 
entirely  at  the  Circassian's  mercy.  In  all  likelihood  he 
could  not  approach  Si-Hamza  without  her  help.  He 
gave  Djeilma  the  note.  She  instructed  him  to  await  her 
return  where  he  stood  and  started  at  a  run. 

Knowing  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  approach  the 
Sultan  in  the  midst  of  such  a  concourse  of  people,  she  made 
at  once  for  the  gate.  Abd-er-Rhaman,  his  staff  following, 
was  coming  towards  the  house.  She  waited  until  Si- 
Hamza  passed ;    then  she  uttered  with  great  deliberation : 

"One  prisoner  with  Bou-Amel,  Si-Hamza.  One  with 
Sheikh  Muhamed.     The  third  is  still  with  the  French." 


240        IN  THE   WAKE   OF   THE   GREEN   BANNER 

Si-Hamza  turned  sharply  in  the  saddle.  She  produced 
the  paper,  waved  it  a  second,  drew  it  again  and  awaited 
events,  ready  to  swallow  the  message  and  to  simulate  in- 
sanity should  her  exclamation,  instead  of  bringing  the 
desired  result,  cause  her  to  be  annoyed  by  the  questions  of 
some  by-standers.  Si-Hamza  entered  the  enclosure,  giving 
no  sign  that  he  had  understood.  She  bit  her  lips,  thinking 
that  she  had  failed.  One  behind  the  other,  all  the  sheiks 
in  the  Sultan's  retinue  passed  the  gate.  She  had  almost 
decided  to  go,  when  a  horseman  came  out  and  looked 
around  in  perplexity.  There  were  several  women  about^ 
and  he  was  at  a  loss  to  know  to  which  of  them  Si-Hamza 
referred.  But  Djeilma  made  two  steps  towards  him,  dis- 
pelling his  uncertainty. 

"Didst  thou  call  Si-Hamza?"  he  asked.  "I  am 
Mokrani.     Is  there  a  message  from  the  French  ?" 

"From  whom  among  the  French  should  Si-Hamza  ex- 
pect a  message?"  she  inquired  guardedly. 

Mokrani  answered  question  for  question. 

"Is  there  no  dog  barking  in  the  Wad-el-Haluf  ?" 

"Then  there  is  a  message,  Inshallah!"  she  exclaimed. 
"If  Mustapha  has  not  been  set  free,  it  is  because  he  is 
wounded  in  the  leg.  Tell  Si-Hamza  that  Sidi  Leitoun  is 
in  danger.  I  am  sent  to  discuss  with  him  the  best  means 
to  free  him." 

Mokrani  reentered  the  enclosure.  He  reappeared  five 
minutes  later. 

"Si-Hamza  bids  thee  go  to  his  camp,"  he  said.  "Wait 
near  his  tent.  He  will  join  thee  in  a  quarter  of  an 
hour." 

Left  alone,  the  Circassian  wondered  whether  she  had 


UNIVERSITY    1 

of       y 

S^CAUF05Ji!^iEILMA    LETS   FALL   HER   HAIK  241 

anything  to  gam  by  taking  French  leave  of  Anoun-Dialo. 
In  the  fast  falling  darkness,  this  was  by  no  means  an 
impossible  feat.  But  she  reflected  that  the  negro  would 
now  be  well  content  to  remain  in  the  background,  especially 
as  the  negotiations  about  to  begin  did  not  concern  him. 
Moreover,  with  a  companion  of  his  size,  the  risk  she  ran 
in  crossing  the  Moslem  lines  after  nightfall  was  consider- 
ably lessened.  If  he  asked  for  his  paper,  she  could  tell  him 
that  Si-Hamza  had  already  received  it.  She  went  back  to 
the  negro  and  gave  him  a  brief  account  of  the  results  she 
had  already  obtained.  Convinced  now  that  she  was 
working  for  the  best  of  their  common  interests,  Anoun- 
Dialo  made  no  difficulty  about  following  her. 

They  waited  five  minutes  outside  Si-Hamza's  tent. 
Dje'ilma  kept  silent.  She  was  rehearsing  her  role  and 
marshalling  arguments  for  the  coming  encounter.  At  last 
the  chieftain  made  his  appearance. 

Dismounting,  he  made  a  sign  to  the  visitors  to  follow 
him.  Djeilma  stopped  Anoun-Dialo  on  the  threshold. 
The  negro  was  surprised  at  hearing  himself  sentenced  to 
remain  outside,  but  he  did  not  demur.  As  Si-Hamza  sat 
himself  cross-legged  on  a  rug,  Dje'ilma  tendered  him 
d'Ornano's  note  at  the  end  of  her  finger  tips,  the  gesture 
affording  her  an  opportunity  to  display  her  bracelets  and 
heavy  rings.  Then  she  closed  her  veil  tight  on  her  mouth 
and  remained  standing,  an  enigma  in  linen. 

Si-Hamza  read,  pondered  over  the  contents  of  the  mes- 
sage and  raised  his  glance.  Dje'ilma  made  not  a  move. 
He  asked,  already  puzzled  by  her  strange  quiet: 

"Did  Sidi  d'Ornano  send  thee  here?" 

"No,"  she  said.     "I  stole  the  paper." 


242        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

This  was  the  first  blow.  It  drew  blood.  The  answer 
had  been  so  decided  and  so  aggressive  that  Si-Hamza  con- 
sidered her  with  amazement.  She  added  with  serene 
unconcern : 

"  What  cannot  be  gotten  by  fair  means  has  to  be  sought 
otherwise.  The  negro  I  left  outside  is  a  fool.  I  obtained 
the  karta  from  him." 

"Who  art  thou?" 

The  Circassian  let  her  veil  fall  at  her  feet.  Then  she 
slid  down,  sitting  in  full  light. 

"I  am  what  thou  seest,"  she  replied.  "A  name  is 
nothing." 

Of  all  feminine  gestures,  that  which  uplifts  both  arms 
towards  the  neck  and  raises  the  hair  is  perhaps  the  most 
graceful.  Dje'ilma  shook  her  curls.  When  she  saw  that 
Si-Hamza,  a  prey  to  a  feeling  in  which  bewildered  admira- 
tion was  uppermost,  was  silent,  her  smile  became  a  laugh. 
If  her  aim  had  been  to  surprise  and  disconcert,  she  had 
succeeded  beyond  her  expectations.  By  removing  her 
hai'k  unbidden,  she  had  almost  scandalized.  But,  unpre- 
pared as  he  was  for  a  demonstration  of  this  kind  on  the 
part  of  a  casual  visitor,  Si-Hamza  was  not  enough  of  a 
fanatic  to  remind  the  young  woman  that  she  stood  in  the 
presence  of  a  descendant  of  Muhamed.  Moreover,  the 
branch  to  which  he  belonged  had  long  ago  ceased  to  breed 
rigorists.  The  drunkenness  of  old  Si-Hamza,  now  dead, 
had  been  the  standing  joke  of  government  circles  in  Algiers. 
It  was  rumored  that  the  old  man  never  failed  to  dip  a  fore- 
finger in  his  champagne  and  to  shake  out  a  single  drop, 
declaring  with  all  gravity  that  "as  the  first  drop  of  wine 
is  accursed"  the  rest  could  be  drunk  without  entailing  a 


DJEILMA   LETS   FALL  HER  HAIK  243 

breach  of  the  precepts  set  forth  by  his  ancestor.  Young 
Si-Hamza  dispensed  even  with  this  formality. 

"Now  that  thou  hast  seen  the  means,"  the  Circassian 
went  on,  "shall  I  tell  thee  what  ends  beauty  can  serve? 
When  I  belonged  to  Muley-Hassan's  harem,  I  thwarted 
three  times  Abd-er-Rhaman's  purpose  by  upsetting  the 
cup  of  the  poison-bearer.  The  negro  I  left  outside  will 
tell  thee  that  I  had  grand  eunuch  Mustapha  robbed  of  all 
his  belongings  and  kicked  as  bare  as  a  worm  into  the  street. 
When  Sidi-Malik  beat  me  and  Sidi  Leitoun  declined  to  do 
my  pleasure,  I  had  both  of  them  taken  prisoners.  It 
depends  now  on  thee  that  Sidi  Leitoun  is  released  before 
Sheikh  Muhamed  learns  of  Mustapha's  wound.  Thou 
art  a  witness  that  I  can  serve  or  cross  many  purposes.  I 
came  to  learn  what  price  thou  art  willing  to  pay  for  the 
life  of  Sidi  Leitoun  ?" 

When  it  dawned  upon  Si-Hamza  that  this  extraordinary 
preamble  carried  a  carefully  veiled  threat,  and  served  at 
most  to  cover  an  offer  to  barter  Leyton's  life  and  freedom 
against  some  palpable  advantage,  his  amusement  knew  no 
limits.  It  was  certainly  the  first  time  that  a  piece  of  impu- 
dence of  this  size  was  served  him  in  such  a  cup.  He  got 
up  laughing. 

"Am  I  to  infer  that,  if  I  am  unwilling  to  pay  thy  price, 
Sidi  Leitoun  is  as  good  as  dead  ?"  he  said  at  last.  "Well 
worded  for  a  blackmailer,  woman-child.  By  what  name 
am  I  to  call  thee?" 

"Djeilma." 

"Well,  then,  Djeilma,  how  old  art  thou?" 

"Sixteen,  yaSidi." 

"I  see;    too  young  not  to  make  mistakes.  ...  Is  it 


244        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN   BANNER 

wise  to  run  into  the  lion's  mouth  ?  What  is  good  to  look  at 
is  good  to  keep.  Suppose  I  chose  to  keep  thee  here? 
Who  will  know  there  ever  was  a  Dje'ilma  ?" 

The  Circassian  flushed  to  the  ears.  It  was  a  compliment, 
after  all.     She  answered,  smiling: 

"I,  at  least,  shall  not  forget  it.  Beware  of  thy  wits,  Si- 
Hamza.  There  is  an  exit  wherever  there  is  an  entrance. 
Did  Muley-Hassan  keep  me?  Did  Sidi-Malik?  By 
making  me  a  prisoner  thou  losest  thy  right  arm.  We  spoke 
of  Sidi  Leitoun  only.  Free,  I  set  him  free.  I  did  not  say 
I  would  never  come  back." 

"I  see.  .  .  .  Then,  if  it  pleases  thee,  let  us  speak  of  the 
reward." 

Djeilma  looked  around,  thought  it  over  and  ended  by 
declaring: 

"I  want  not  money.     Thou  art  not  rich  enough." 

This  time  Si-Hamza  lost  all  countenance.  He  wondered 
if  he  had  not  to  deal  with  a  practical  joker.  What  notions 
had  Djeilma  of  her  own  importance  if  she  despised  the 
bounty  of  Algeria's  richest  chief  ?  True  to  her  principles 
of  warfare,  she  went  on,  without  giving  him  time  to 
recover: 

"This  is  the  bargain.  I  will  serve  thee  for  the  excite- 
ment of  the  venture;  and,  so  long  as  Sidi  Leitoun  is  not 
set  free,  I  am  thine  to  command.  I  shall  also  stay  here  a 
week  if  it  is  thy  wish.  Then,  if  I  have  a  favor  to  ask, 
thou  wilt  remember  that  I  have  treated  thee  as  a  friend." 

"So  I  will,  Inshallah!  provided  it  is  in  my  power  to 
grant  the  favor." 

"  It  will  be  in  thy  power.  I  am  told  that  thou  art  Abd- 
er-Rhaman's  friend." 


DJEILMA   LETS   FALL  HER  HAIK  245 

"I  am  his  friend  to-day.  Still  I  may  have  fallen  from 
favor  next  week.  What  is  thy  business  with  Abd-er- 
Rhaman?" 

"My  own  business,  as  thou  sayest.  I  must  speak  with 
him  even  as  I  spoke  with  thee.  Thou  wilt  introduce  me 
in  his  tent.     If  I  can  serve  thee,  I  can  serve  him." 

Si-Ham za  consoled  himself  by  inferring  that  it  was  either 
a  clear  case  of  megalomania  or  else  that  Djei'lma  had  the 
bump  of  devotion  somewhere  on  her  cranium.  It  was  no 
longer  with  amused  curiosity,  but  with  all  the  interest  he 
would  have  brought  to  the  solution  of  a  problem,  that  he 
considered  her.  Partly  to  ascertain  the  earnestness  of  her 
purpose,  partly  to  make  the  most  of  the  present  opportunity, 
he  said: 

"I  shall  put  one  condition  only  to  the  realization  of  thy 
desire.  Dost  thou  consent  to  attempt  also  the  rescue  of 
Sidi-Malik?" 

"Why  not?"  she  inquired  in  quiet  surprise.  "He  beat 
me;  I  am  avenged.  Wilt  thou  undertake  to  protect  me 
from  him?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  I  will  see  what  I  can  do." 

"It  will  be  difficult,  I  warn  thee.  Whoever  falls  into 
Bou-Amel's  clutches,  if  a  friend  of  Sidi  d'Ornano,  may 
consider  himself  a  dead  man.  Even  I  would  not  go  to  his 
camp  without  an  escort." 

She  laughed  in  deprecation. 

"Thou  art  not  a  woman,  Si-Hamza.  Of  what  use 
would  it  be  for  me  to  be  more  beautiful  than  most  ?  Does 
not  the  wasp  enjoy  destroying  the  web  painstakingly 
woven  by  the  spider?" 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  EYE  OF  THE  WAD-EL-HALUF 

Less  than  an  hour  later,  her  preparations  now  complete, 
she  made  her  reappearance  in  the  Wad-el-Haluf .  Ben- 
Aissa,  who  had  vainly  searched  the  whole  camp  for  her, 
had  sought  Leyton's  company.  The  repeated  delays  of 
Sheikh  Muhamed  in  restoring  him  to  freedom  had  put  the 
American  into  a  very  bad  temper,  and  he  received  Ben- 
Aissa  coolly.  The  young  Arab,  as  downcast  as  a  beaten 
dog,  pondered  in  a  corner  of  the  tent  over  the  causes  of  this 
unusual  reception.  Unable  to  bear  a  grudge  against  such 
a  childishly  irresponsible  and  light-hearted  being,  it  had 
been  Leyton's  wont  to  receive  him  cordially.  Conversa- 
tion was  impossible  between  them,  but  they  had  managed 
to  understand  each  other  by  gestures.  While  the  painter 
drew  pictures  of  animals,  which  Ben-Aissa  admired  with 
the  noisy  delight  of  a  five-year-old,  they  had  spent  evenings 
pleasant  enough.  Now  both  of  them  were  lying  full  length 
on  a  rug;  the  Arab  in  semi-darkness,  Ley  ton  under  the 
lantern  hanging  from  the  tent-pole.  His  hands  joined 
behind  his  neck,  the  Saharan  sang  a  lullaby  of  the  sands; 
the  painter  listened  to  the  footsteps  of  the  two  men  who 
kept  watch  outside,  and  without  whom  he  was  not  allowed 
to  leave  the  tent. 

They  had  been  together  an  hour,   and  Ben-Aissa  had 

246 


THE   EYE    OF   THE    WAD-EL-HALUF  247 

tried  the  power  of  four  different  songs,  when  the  voice  of 
Dje'ilma  was  heard.  She  was  asking  the  sentry  whether 
Ben-Aissa  was  with  Sidi  Leitoun.  The  singer  instantly 
got  up. 

In  the  course  of  the  last  two  weeks  the  Circassian  had 
more  than  once  passed  the  threshold  of  Leyton's  tent. 
At  each  visit  she  had  taken  a  cruel  pleasure  in  reminding 
the  American  that  if  he  had  behaved  differently  he  would, 
to-day,  be  a  free  man.  Only  the  night  before,  she  had 
come  purposely  to  tell  him  that  Sidi-Malik  had  been 
handed  over  to  Bou-Amel.  Thinking  that  she  came 
merely  to  stir  to  frenzy  his  desire  to  escape  and  delight  in 
the  spectacle  of  his  enraged  impotence,  he  closed  his  eyes 
and  affected  to  sleep. 

He  heard  Dje'ilma  push  the  curtain.  Then  the  light 
fell  full  on  his  face.  The  Circassian  had  brought  the 
lantern  to  look  at  him  closely.  The  fact  that  he  did  not 
blink  aroused  her  suspicions.  She  drew  a  blade  of  halfa 
from  the  matting  and  began  to  tickle  him  in  the  right  ear. 
This  meeting  with  little  success,  she  borrowed  a  sheet  of 
cigarette  paper  from  Ben-Aissa,  rolled  some  dry  tobacco  in 
the  palm  of  her  hand  until  it  was  as  fine  as  snuff  and  blew 
it  in  the  nose  of  the  sleeper.  Leyton  got  up,  sneezing, 
unable  to  command  enough  dignity  to  render  his  stare 
effective.     She  and  Ben-Ai'ssa  were  laughing  like  children. 

"  Listen,  Sidi  Leitoun,"  she  said  in  the  detestable 
French  she  always  used  with  him,  "and  betray  no  surprise 
at  anything  I  may  say.  I  met  Anoun-Dialo  this  afternoon. 
He  told  me  that  Mustapha  was  wounded  in  the  leg  and 
was  sent  to  the  hospital.  I  am  going  to  tell  Ben-Aissa 
that  Mustapha  is  in  the  hands  of  Bou-Amel.     Look  very 


248        IN   THE    WAKE    OF   THE    GREEN   BANNER 

cross  now.  Ben-Aissa  must  believe  I  brought  thee  bad 
news." 

She  turned  to  the  Saharan  and  explained  in  Arabic  that 
his  cousin  was  a  prisoner  of  the  Maddhi.  Greatly  excited, 
Ben-Aissa  asked  so  many  questions  that  she  was  at  some 
pains  to  invent  details  plausible  enough  to  substantiate  her 
story.  But  a  woman  usually  manages  to  drown  dis- 
crepancies under  a  flow  of  information.  Ben-Aissa  had 
no  reason  for  suspecting  her  purpose.  She  turned  again 
to  Leyton. 

"Now  he  believes  me;  and  to-night  Bou-Amel  will  be 
credited  with  everything.  Friends  of  thine — I  shall  speak 
no  names — will  pay  the  price  I  asked  to  help  thee  escape. 
If  I  had  cared  to  harm  thee  I  would  not  have  waited  so 
long.  Ben-Aissa  and  I  will  presently  go  out.  Do  not 
leave  the  tent.  Thou  wilt  find  that  I  have  concealed  a 
knife  under  the  matting.  Now,  strike  me  on  the  face  and 
call  me  names.  Ben-Aissa  must  be  made  to  believe  that 
there  is  again  a  quarrel  between  us." 

Hard  as  Leyton  found  it  to  fly  into  a  temper  merely  for 
the  sake  of  deceiving  Ben-Aissa,  he  acquitted  himself 
creditably  of  his  task.  To  bring  the  demonstration  to  an 
end,  he  drew  his  rug  into  the  darkest  corner  of  the  tent  and 
lay  down,  his  back  turned  on  his  visitors.  Unable  to 
question  him,  Ben-Aissa  was  compelled  to  content  himself 
with  Djeilma's  explanations.  She  swore  that  she  had 
done  nothing  more  than  tell  him  that  he  would  soon  go  to 
join  Sidi-Malik,  and  that  Bou-Amel  would  salt  his  hands. 
Then  it  was  Ben-Aissa's  turn  to  take  the  painter's  part  and 
remonstrate.  He  was  interrupted  by  a  drone  of  derbukkas 
and  tom-toms. 


THE  EYE   OF  THE    WAD-EL-HALUF  249 

Djeilma  got  up  and  went  out.  The  Saharan  followed. 
Left  alone,  Leyton  remained  a  long  time  listening  to  the 
beatings  of  his  own  heart.  This  drone  of  musical  instru- 
ments, so  often  heard,  had  taken  on  all  at  once  a  formidable 
significance.  He  got  up,  blew  out  the  lantern,  searched 
under  the  matting  for  Djeilma's  knife,  and  went  noiselessly 
towards  the  entrance.  He  slightly  pushed  the  curtain 
aside  and  looked  out.  A  sentinel  sat  there,  playing  with 
his  beads  to  kill  time,  his  rifle  on  his  knees,  so  near  that 
it  might  have  been  possible  to  knife  him.  The  night  wind 
came  to  strike  the  American  in  the  face.  He  breathed 
deeply.  Under  the  stars,  tents  delineated  their  sharp 
silhouettes.  The  camp  was  pitched  on  a  slope.  Above 
him  he  saw  the  glare  of  torches.  People  were  moving 
towards  the  source  of  light,  which,  to  judge  from  the 
shadows,  was  close  to  the  ground.  The  tents  concealed 
from  him  the  circle  of  interested  spectators;  but  he  had 
too  often  heard  the  music  of  the  Ouled-Nails  not  to 
recognize  Saharan  dancers. 

He  wondered  whether  the  presence  of  the  dancing  girls 
was  part  of  a  premeditated  plan  or  merely  an  accident. 
Not  impossibly,  Djeilma,  warned  in  advance  of  their 
coming,  had  decided  to  profit  by  the  opportunity  this  visit 
afforded  her.  This  part  of  the  camp  was  now  almost 
deserted.  For  a  quarter  of  an  hour  Leyton  remained 
still,  wondering  whether  temptation  would  overcome 
his  keeper's  sense  of  duty.  All  of  a  sudden  the  man 
got  up. 

The  American  started  when  he  heard  his  exclamation 
of  alarm.  He  saw  nothing.  His  amazement,  however, 
became  immeasurable  as  the  face  of  the  man  emerged 


250        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE    GREEN   BANNER 

from  the  darkness  and  took  the  color  of  red  brick.  Sud- 
denly he  heard  a  shout. 

"Fire!  .  .  .  Fire!  ..." 

The  sentinel  moved  to  the  right.  Inside  the  tent  the 
prisoner  followed  in  the  same  direction.  With  his  knife, 
he  made  a  hole  in  the  cloth  and  looked  out.  At  the  ex- 
treme limit  of  the  camp,  at  least  three  hundred  feet  away 
from  the  Ouled-Nails,  tents  were  burning. 

He  scarcely  dared  believe  that  this  was  also  Djeilma's 
work.  In  the  distance  he  heard  calls  and  shouts.  His 
two  keepers  were  now  talking  excitedly.  As  long  as  they 
stayed  escape  was  impossible.  Emotion  and  impatience 
shook  him  like  fever.     A  man  flew  by,  shouting: 

"Every  man  to  the  fire.  Sheikh  Muhamed  says  every 
man.     Fissa,  fissa!    The  wind  is  against  us." 

One  of  the  sentinels  started  at  a  run,  passing  his  rifle 
to  the  other.  Again  Leyton  lived  through  a  second  of 
anguish.  The  other  man  came  towards  the  tent,  unloos- 
ened a  stake,  pushed  the  weapons  inside  and  disappeared. 
The  painter  ran  to  the  other  side  and,  with  his  knife,  slit 
the  tent  from  bottom  to  top. 

He  found  himself  facing  Dje'ilma.  He  withdrew,  taken 
aback.     With  a  low  laugh,  she  entered  and  came  to  him. 

"I  shall  kiss  thee  now,  Sidi  Le'itoun!" 

She  flung  herself  on  him,  laughing  and  out  of  breath, 
making  desperate  attempts  to  reach  his  lips.  The  danger 
both  of  them  were  running  served  only  to  instil  more 
fervor  into  her  caress.  Leyton  stooped,  only  too  glad  to 
pay  the  price  of  freedom.  There  was  no  resisting  the 
singular  charm  of  this  creature.  For  a  minute  he  shared 
the  intensity  of  her  emotions,  glad  to  have  her  panting 


THE    EYE   OF  THE    WAD-EL-HALUF  251 

on  his  chest,  swept  by  the  storm  that  raged  in  her  bosom. 
Obviously,  it  was  absurd  to  apply  his  own  standards  to  a 
being  of  this  stamp.  She  was,  in  truth,  the  "vixen  of  the 
Country  of  Nod,"  impure,  no  doubt,  and  perverse;  but 
this  with  utter  unconsciousness.  Like  Don  Juan,  she  was 
above  criticism.  The  point  was  not  settled  whether  she 
was  the  victim  of  passions  for  which  she  was  not  responsi- 
ble or  a  poet  in  search  of  an  unattainable  ideal. 

The  part  of  the  camp  through  which  they  made  their 
escape  was  deserted.  The  conflagration  threw  blotches 
of  red  light  between  tents.  They  jumped  from  shadow 
to  shadow,  stumbling  on  stakes,  pursued  by  the  furious 
barking  of  dogs.  At  last  they  found  themselves  in  the 
open. 

A  ten  minutes'  run  took  them  to  the  place  where  Si- 
Hamza,  Anoun-Dialo  and  a  few  men  were  waiting.  Far 
away  in  the  transparent  distance,  they  heard  the  nostalgic 
whistling  of  fifes  and  the  low  drumming  of  tom-toms.  Si- 
Hamza  briefly  congratulated  Leyton  on  his  escape.  A 
three-year-old  stallion,  half  Syrian,  half  Barb,  was  given 
him.  With  a  laugh,  Djeilma  accepted  the  chieftain's 
invitation  to  ride  behind  him.  One  chaouch  in  front,  to 
show  the  way,  and  the  others  on  the  flanks  and  rear,  they 
went  forth  at  a  brisk  pace,  a  shower  of  sparks  flying  from 
under  their  horses'  hoofs. 

It  was  not  cold.  In  the  silken,  slate-colored  sky  mill- 
ions of  stars  of  an  extraordinary  brilliancy  opened  and 
closed  their  mysterious  eyes.  A  wondrous  milky  way 
made  a  gigantic  attempt  at  climbing  to  the  zenith.  On  the 
north,  jet  black  mountains  rose  as  a  barrier.  On  the 
south,  the  monotonous  hamadan  fled  like  a  thief  into  the 


252        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

thickening  darkness,  as  bleak  and  desolate  as  the  shores 
of  the  Mare  Tenebrarum.  Between,  the  canyon  of  the 
Wad-el-Haluf  opened  its  gap,  an  occasional  pool  reflecting 
the  stars.  Myriads  of  moving  lights,  suggestive  of  some 
Chinese  carnival,  seemed  to  hang  in  midair,  casting  no 
shadow  on  the  bottom.  It  was  from  there  that  the  noise 
came;  an  uproar  softened  by  distance;  a  sad  music  of 
ever-hopeful  humanity  voicing  its  loves  and  its  cares;  self- 
conscious  dust  of  the  dust  seeking  to  attract  the  glance  of 
the  radiant  chariots  and  retain  the  attention  of  the  Maker 
who  watches,  immobile,  the  motion  of  the  whirling  spaces 
and  never  lifts  a  finger. 

They  rode  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  In  daytime  they 
would  have  carefully  avoided  the  place  where  Bou-Amel 
had  pitched  his  camp;  but  it  was  night  and  the  chaouchs 
were  a  sufficient  protection.  Strange  to  say,  all  was 
perfectly  quiet  in  that  part  of  the  canyon.  Si-Hamza  had 
not  expected  to  hear  the  chirruping  of  fifes  and  the  snoring 
of  derbukkhas  on  that  side,  but,  knowing  that  nearly  four 
hundred  men  had  lost  their  lives  in  the  day's  affray,  he 
anticipated  an  impressive  ceremony  of  burial.  To  his 
surprise,  no  lamentations,  no  shrieks  were  to  be  heard. 
This  was  so  little  in  accordance  with  custom  that  he 
thought  of  pushing  his  horse  forward  with  the  purpose  of 
ascertaining  the  reason  of  this  silence.  As  he  spurred  the 
animal,  he  was  stopped  by  one  of  the  chaouchs,  who  came 
back  at  this  minute  from  a  reconnoitring  tour. 

Ley  ton  felt  the  dread  of  a  night  attack  pass  over  him. 
A  quarter  of  an  hour  went  by.  His  ears,  now  used  to  the 
silence,  were  able  to  detect  faint  sounds.  He  waited, 
holding  his  breath.    The  sixth  sense,  that  of  impending 


danger,  w* 


THE   EYE   OF  THE   WAD-EL-HALUF  253 


(anger,  was  awake.  Although  he  would  have  been  unable 
to  tell  where  the  seat  of  perception  lay,  and  what  process 
enabled  the  brain  to  register  the  telepathic  messages,  he 
felt  that  he  was  probing  the  darkness.  The  slow  motion 
of  Bou-Amers  troops  became  as  plain  to  him  as  if  he  had 
been  watching  in  daylight.  Perhaps  the  premonition  of 
coming  disaster  had  rendered  his  faculties  of  perception 
more  acute,  while  lack  of  time  in  which  to  analyze  his 
sensations  forbade  him  to  investigate  the  relation  existing 
between  the  effect  and  its  cause.  All  of  a  sudden  a  yell 
went  up.  It  was  not  until  he  saw  the  flashes  of  fire-arms, 
however,  that  he  realized  how  near  d'Ornano's  bastion 
Bou-Amel  had  succeeded  in  leading  his  troops.  Perhaps 
the  sentinels  in  the  fort  had  been  deceived  by  the  time- 
worn  trick  of  the  progressing  bush  or  boulder.  His  blood 
ran  cold  at  the  thought  that  this  was  to  be  a  hand-to-hand 
fight,  and  that  the  defenders  of  the  bastion,  surprised, 
answering  half  dressed  the  call  to  arms,  and  still  half 
asleep,  would  each  have  to  prove  a  match  for  a  hundred 
Saharans  or  Berbers  more  used  than  themselves  to  cold  steel. 
He  had  scarcely  time  to  think  all  this,  however,  when  he 
was  struck  by  the  absurdity  of  the  notion.  D'Ornano  was 
too  wary,  and  knew  the  Saharans  too  well,  not  to  be  on  his 
guard.  He  not  only  possessed  night  spy-glasses,  but  he 
had  surely  been  impressed  by  this  unusual  silence.  He 
could  not  have  failed  to  notice  that  bivouac  fires  were  not 
burning.  Why  he  had  allowed  Bou-Amel  to  progress 
thus  far  had  yet  to  appear.  Leyton  did  not  have  to  wait 
long.  The  Corsican's  purpose  became  obvious  even  be- 
fore the  storming  party's  war  cry  began  to  awaken  the 
echo  of  the  cliff. 


254        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

The  witnesses  of  this  scene  might  have  sworn  it  was  an 
earthquake.  The  horses  began  rearing.  Leyton  was  bent 
on  the  neck  of  his  mount,  finding  it  hard  to  keep  the 
stirrup,  when  he  saw  the  earth  open  with  a  great  flame  and 
he  noticed  that  the  part  of  the  cliff  immediately  under  the 
bastion  was  moving;  gently  separating  itself  from  the 
rest  of  the  mass;  leaning  bodily  towards  the  ravine  at  an 
angle  of  twenty  degrees;  falling,  slowly  at  first,  and  then 
crumbling  into  a  million  pieces  with  the  roar  of  a  thousand 
guns.     An  electric  search-light  punctured  the  sky. 

A  rain  of  fire  was  now  pouring  down  from  the  unattain- 
able bastion;  rifles,  machine-guns,  a  battery  of  75mm. 
field  artillery  and  mountain  guns.  The  murderous  milky 
ray  now  searched  the  canyon  as  a  terrier  searches  a  cave. 
From  below  not  a  shot  came.  No  doubt,  the  Saharans 
thought  that  the  supernatural  light,  hitting  here  and  there 
and  dealing  death,  was  responsible  for  the  catastrophe. 
And  who  will  fight  against  the  light  of  Heaven!  A  hideous 
shriek  of  supreme  terror  and  despair  made  itself  heard 
through  powder  smoke  and  fusillading.  The  search-light, 
glance  of  a  malignant,  one-eyed  cyclops,  turned  slowly  to 
the  east.  Cadaverous  in  the  ghastly  ray,  Leyton  wheeled 
his  horse  around  and  saw  that  he  was  alone  with  Si- 
Hamza  and  the  Circassian.  The  chaouchs  were  in  full 
flight,  riding  like  mad  towards  Dar-el-Dokkar. 

Two  minutes  had  not  elapsed  when  they  again  felt  the 
same  tremor  of  the  ground.  The  flame,  this  time,  sprung 
skywards  from  the  river-bed.  It  was  all  too  evident  that 
d'Ornano  had  kept  quiet  only  to  catch  Bou-Amel  in  this 
fire-trap.  And  still  bullets  kept  on  raining,  and  machine- 
guns  kept  on  rattling,  while  the  ghastly  ray  searched  every 


THE   EYE   OF  THE   WAD-EL-HALUF  255 

hole  and  shrapnel  shells  as  beautiful  as  falling  stars  left 
a  trajectory  of  light  in  the  star-spangled  sky,  whistling  and 
exploding  with  the  muffled  sound  of  Fourth-of-July 
pyrotechnics.  The  black  northern  mountains  looked  on 
from  under  their  mantle  of  stars.  Death  was  at  work  in 
the  canyon — grim,  ugly  death,  the  kind  that  kneads  into 
paste  and  crushes  beyond  recognition  the  soft,  fat,  fluid- 
filled  bodies  of  men.  Bou-Amel's  followers  fled,  a  herd  of 
stampeded  cattle  jostled  in  a  whirlwind  of  terror.  Ap- 
palled, obscurely  wondering  why  a  being  as  soft  as  a  snail, 
a  mollusc  that  can  be  disabled  by  any  one  of  three  blows 
dealt  with  the  bare  hand,  should  need  resort  to  explosives 
to  carry  on  his  rabid  warfare  and  steal,  Prometheus-like, 
the  thunder  of  the  Gods,  Leyton,  turning  his  back  to  the 
Wad-el-Hal uf,  now  filled  with  dead,  followed  Si-Hamza 
towards  Dar-el-Dokkar. 


CHAPTER  XIX 


ABD-ER-RHAMAN-ES-SHERIFF 


Leyton  slept  badly.  The  horror  he  had  witnessed  re- 
vived in  a  nightmare,  and  an  artillery  duel  had  begun. 
At  daybreak  he  was  awakened  by  Si-Hamza,  who  told  him 
that  Bou-Amel  had  lost  close  upon  two  thousand  men. 
Aroused  from  his  sleep  by  the  roar  of  the  explosion,  the 
Sultan  had  spent  part  of  the  night  on  the  scene  of  the  dis- 
aster. In  his  terror  and  affliction,  the  Saharan  chieftain 
had  thrown  himself  on  his  knees,  begging  his  chief  to  let 
him  have,  until  they  were  needed  elsewhere,  the  few  guns 
the  Moslem  army  possessed.  Abd-er-Rhaman  had  lent 
him  two  Krupp  guns  manned  by  Turkish  artillerymen 
under  the  command  of  a  German  officer. 

All  hopes  of  storming  the  bastion  were  now  gone.  The 
part  of  the  cliff  which  had  fallen  had  left  the  rock  with  a 
perpendicular  face  which  even  a  wild  ram  could  not 
climb.  For  want  of  a  proper  explosive,  the  Krupp  guns 
had  been  unable  to  inflict  much  damage  upon  the  bastion; 
but,  on  account  of  their  longer  range,  they  had  easily 
reduced  the  75mm.  field  artillery  to  silence.  They  had 
kept  on  firing  until  Abd-er-Rhaman,  happening  along,  had 
undertaken  a  personal  survey  of  the  situation.  He  had 
then  forbidden  this  useless  waste  of  ammunition,  upbraid- 
ing the  German  officer  for  not  taking  into  account  the  fact 

256 


ABD-ER-RHAMAN-ES-SHERIFF  257 

that  the  foe  was  now  under  cover.  At  present  all  was 
quiet.  Abd-er-Rhaman  had  summoned  his  aghas  to  a 
council  of  war.  Most  of  the  chieftains  were  already  in 
Dar-el-Dokkar,  awaiting  his  return. 

The  Sultan  reappeared  shortly  afterwards,  and  Si-Hamza 
left  the  tent.  He  was  gone  two  hours.  When  he  came  back 
he  informed  Ley  ton  that  Abd-er-Rhaman  desired  to  see  him. 

The  abrupt  announcement  took  the  American  by  sur- 
prise. His  first  thought  was  that  Sheikh  Muhamed  had 
complained  of  his  escape.  But  he  reflected  that  Djei'lma 
had  manoeuvred  far  too  cleverly  to  warrant  the  hypothesis 
that  the  Ouled-Ougouni  had  been  able  to  get  at  the  truth 
in  so  short  a  time.  He  questioned  Si-Hamza;  the  young 
man  merely  laughed  and  declined  to  answer.  But  he  did 
not  lose  sight  of  the  decorum  the  bewildered  artist  was  on 
the  point  of  forgetting.  He  ordered  a  chaouch  to  dis- 
mount and  to  give  the  American  his  horse  and  his  burnous. 
Leyton  was  now  fit  for  court  presentation.  A  five  minutes' 
ride  took  them  to  the  place  where  the  Sultan  and  his 
escort  were  waiting. 

As  soon  as  he  saw  them,  Abd-er-Rhaman  pushed  his 
horse  forward.     He  addressed  the  painter  in  English. 

"I  understand  that  you  are  an  artist  from  the  States, 
Mr.  Leyton,"  he  said.  "  Is  it  true  that  you  studied  under 
Latimer  Morpes?" 

"It  is  perfectly  true,  your  Highness,"  the  American 
answered  with  considerable  astonishment. 

"I  beg  you  to  overlook  my  questioning,"  the  Sultan 
went  on.  "  But  I  knew  Morpes  in  India,  and  I  cannot  do 
otherwise  than  welcome  you  for  his  sake.  Can  you  give 
me  news  of  him?" 


258        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

"Willingly,  your  Highness.  He  is  well.  That  is  to  say, 
he  was  well  three  months  ago,  when  I  left  England." 

"I  hear  that  he  is  busy  trying  to  be  knighted  and  that 
he  finds  the  Royal  Academy  to  be  real,  English  made, 
sterling  comfort.  He  will  soon  turn  to  tricks  a  la  Meisson- 
ier,  no  doubt,  and  will  paint  the  trodden  snow  of  a 
Russian  retreat  by  means  of  barrow  wheels  and  bags  of 
salt.  You  will  earn  my  everlasting  gratitude  by  re- 
minding him  that  Verestchagin  died  like  a  man  on  the 
hurricane  deck  of  the  Petropavlovsk.  Would  you  mind  tell- 
ing him  that  North  Africa  and  its  people  are  worthy  of  his 
color-box?  I  mean,  one  of  these  days,  to  write  him  to 
come  and  pay  us  a  visit.  He  will  find  old  friends  here. 
Generals  Raleigh  and  Fitzgerald  are  coming  to  watch  the 
operations,  and  will  be  here  in  a  week.  Then,  I  am  told 
that  the  war  correspondent  the  London  Times  is  sending 
us  is  no  other  than  Lanyard,  dubbed  Jehanum  Sahib, 
another  friend." 

The  painter  was  too  astounded  to  say  a  word.  He  had 
come  fearing  to  be  treated  as  a  spy,  and  the  image  he  had 
in  mind  was  that  of  a  George  Leyton  slashed  to  ribbons 
by  a  dozen  sabres.  In  vain  had  Si-Hamza  reminded  him 
that  he  was  an  American  born,  that  for  all  the  inherited 
sternness  of  Sultans,  who  for  centuries  past  had  shown 
little  regard  for  foreigners,  the  late  Sirdar  was  too  well 
posted  on  questions  of  international  politics  to  indulge 
in  the  costly  pleasure  of  alienating  public  feeling  in  America 
and  in  England.  When  it  was  thus  made  known  to 
Leyton  that  the  Commander  of  the  Faithful  was  a  man  of 
his  day  attached  to  his  friends,  his  sigh  of  relief  was 
audible.     It  is  true  that  the  four  men  Abd-er-Rhaman 


ABD-ER-RHAMAN-ES-SHERIFF  259 

had  named  had  all  proclaimed  the  genuine  love  they  felt 
for  Islam.  But  the  interview  was  not  yet  at  an  end.  The 
conversation  reserved  surprises  of  another  order. 

"Si-Harnza  tells  me  you  were  fortunate  enough  to  escape 
alive  from  Marakesh,"  Abd-er-Rhaman  went  on.  "  I  can 
congratulate  you  the  more  heartily,  for  the  massacre  of  the 
European  population  was  engineered  and  carried  out 
expressly  against  my  orders.  Since  you  are  unable  to 
speak  Arabic,  I  consider  it  wonderful  that  you  have 
succeeded  in  crossing  the  Adrar  N'Draren  and  the  desert. 
But  you  are  used  to  narrow  escapes,  are  you  not,  Mr. 
Ley  ton;   and  you  are  something  of  a  sportsman?" 

"What  does  your  Highness  mean?"  stammered  the 
artist,  unable  to  account  for  the  flame  of  irony  which 
blazed  in  Abd-er-Rhaman's  eye.  "The  feat  will  surely 
appear  much  less  remarkable  when  I  tell  you  that  I  owe 
my  life  to  a  caravan  master." 

"Indeed!  Then  I  must  have  been  misinformed.  Si- 
Hamza  spoke  of  a  Corsican  friend." 

At  this  direct  thrust  Leyton  lost  all  countenance.  The 
glance  he  stole  at  Si-Hamza  was  murderous.  At  least  the 
young  chieftain  might  have  told  him  he  had  spoken  of 
d'Ornano.  But  the  Sultan  went  on  as  if  the  confusion  of 
his  interlocutor  had  escaped  his  notice. 

"Your  friend  is  a  remarkable  man,  Mr.  Leyton.  It  has 
come  to  my  ears  that,  since  you  were  separated  from  him, 
he  has  managed  to  defeat,  single-handed,  a  party  of 
Tuaregg  sent  in  pursuit  by  Bou-Amel.  But  we  all  know 
that  Bou-Amel  is  unlucky.  This  friend  of  yours,  at  any 
rate,  seems  to  me  to  be  the  man  best  adapted  to  improve 
bad  situations.     I  was  telling  Si-Hamza  as  much  before 


260        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

you  came.  It  is  his  opinion,  and  by  this  time  it  is  also 
Bou-AmeFs  opinion,  I  believe.  You  see,  we  are  delighted 
to  face  adversaries  who  make  the  game  worth  while. 
Major  d'Ornano  and  I  are  already  old  acquaintances. 
Two  months  ago,  in  Marakesh,  he  kidnapped  me  and  shot 
down  six  of  my  men." 

The  unbearable  irony  of  his  glance  roused  the  American. 
There  was  now  no  doubt  that  Abd-er-Rhaman  had 
recognized  in  him  one  of  the  four  men  who  had  come  so 
near  crushing  his  ambitions  in  the  egg.  Morally  certain 
that  there  was  nothing  to  gain  by  attempting  to  dodge  the 
issue,  he  said  coolly: 

"I  ought  to  know  something  of  it,  your  Highness.  I 
killed  four  of  them  myself  and  I  was  rewarded  by  a  bullet 
in  the  shoulder." 

"I  am  sorry.     I  did  not  know  about  the  shoulder." 

"Your  Highness,  I  must  take  the  liberty  of  observing 
that  the  shooting  was  done  strictly  in  self-defence.  The 
order  to  kill  was  not  given  by  us." 

"Certainly  not,  certainly  not.  I  distinctly  remember 
the  incident.  I  shall  not  even  ask  you  if  kidnapping  is 
fair  in  war;  you  would  be  justified  in  answering  me  that 
it  was  not  war.  You  did  not  know  what  the  Kutubia 
had  in  store  for  you,  if  you  had  been  caught,  and  the 
precautions  I  took  to  make  Captain  d'Ornano  a  prisoner 
rendered  the  kidnapping  a  matter  of  necessity.  We  wont 
quarrel  over  this.  I  must  say,  however,  that  I  am  totally 
unable  to  sacrifice  an  offender  to  the  revengeful  hatreds 
of  the  secret  societies  of  my  own  land.  But  you  were 
excusable  not  to  know  this. 

"Your  Highness  will  render  us  this  justice  that,  on  our 


ABD-ER-RHAMAN-ES-SHERIFF  261 

side,  we  tried  not  to  depart  from  chivalrous  behavior.  If 
you  were  handled  a  little  roughly,  I  regret  that  the  cir- 
cumstances ..." 

"Certainly.  .  .  .  Curiosity  took  you  to  the  Kutubia 
the  day  curiosity  took  me  to  Marakesh.  I  shall  not 
complain  of  a  coincidence  to  which  I  owe  the  pleasure  of 
your  acquaintance.  I  would  not  for  a  world  have  Lanyard 
tell  me,  when  he  gets  here,  that  I  have  forgotten  the 
meaning  of  the  word  '  sportsman/  so  dear  to  his  English 
heart.  For  this  reason  I  told  Sheikh  Muhamed,  who 
came  this  morning  to  complain  of  your  escape,  that  his 
Saharan  understanding  of  the  hospitable  duties  might  be 
improved  in  several  particulars.  I  also  declared  to  him 
that  his  best  course  was  to  wait  patiently  until  his  son 
leaves  the  hospital.  Perhaps  you  might  care  to  remain  in 
camp  and  collect  material  for  future  work.  In  this  case, 
I  shall  issue  orders  that  you  are  given  every  opportunity  to 
watch  the  operations.  If  you  follow  Si-Hamza  to-day 
you  may  perchance  enter  Figuig.  But  let  me  advise  you 
to  give  Bou-AmeFs  camp  a  wide  berth.  D'Ornano's 
friends  are  not  popular  in  the  ravine.  May  I  ask  you  to 
send  me  the  first  study  you  will  make  of  my  cavalry  ?" 

"I  shall  be  delighted,  your  Highness.  ..." 

"  Then  wait  a  minute.  It  is  only  right  that  the  sovereign 
should  encourage  the  painter." 

He  made  a  sign  to  a  chaouch  and,  to  Leyton's  wonder, 
Anoun-Dialo  was  brought  forward  in  fetters. 

"  You  will  now  understand  how  I  came  to  remember  my 
friends  of  the  Kutubia,"  the  Sultan  explained.  "To  tell 
the  truth,  I  would  never  have  recognized  in  you  one  of 
them.     Captain  d'Ornano,  of  course,  I  have  not  forgotten. 


262        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

But  he  spoke  to  me  where  there  was  light.  As  for  Anoun- 
Dialo,  I  would  have  recognized  his  shoulders  among  a 
thousand.  You  have  here  an  excellent  friend,  Mr. 
Ley  ton;  a  little  afraid  of  decapitation,  perhaps,  but  not 
enough  of  the  punishment  of  salt,  to  my  notion.  In  your 
place,  I  would  tell  him  that  wisdom  consists  in  forgetting 
Sidi-Malik." 

Without  giving  the  painter  time  to  thank  him,  he  was 
gone,  galloping  away  at  the  head  of  his  chieftains.  At 
Si-Hamza's  command,  the  chaouch  cut  the  ropes  which 
tied  the  Yolof .  They  learned  from  him  that  he  had  been 
captured  in  the  height  of  success,  after  he  had  managed 
to  search  Bou-Amers  camp  unchallenged.  He  was  on 
his  way  back  to  tell  Si-Hamza  that  he  had  seen  Sidi-Malik, 
when  Abd-er-Rhaman  had  recognized  him  and  made  him 
a  prisoner. 

"What's  that?"  interrupted  Leyton.  "Did  he  really 
succeed  in  reaching  Sidi-Malik  ?    Where  did  he  find  him  ?  " 

"  In  the  caves  of  the  Zousf ana,"  replied  Si-Hamza,  who 
translated  the  answers  of  the  negro.  "He  has  been  hands 
in  the  salt  since  midnight.  I  suppose  that  Bou-Amel  has 
decided  to  avenge  in  this  fashion  the  set-back  we  witnessed 
from  the  bank  of  the  Wad-el-Haluf." 

Ley  ton's  first  impulse  was  to  jump  on  horseback  and 
to  gallop  after  Abd-er-Rhaman.  On  soberer  thought, 
however,  he  realized  that  the  Sultan,  great  as  his  desire  to 
make  himself  agreeable  to,  foreigners  might  be,  would 
evidently  draw  the  line  at  Sidi-Malik.  He  could  not  fail 
to  consider  the  camel-driver  a  traitor  to  his  religion,  his 
country  and  his  people.  Indeed,  it  was  very  doubtful 
whether  Si-Hamza  himself,  free  from  fanaticism  as  he 


ABD-ER-RHAMAN-ES-SHERIFF  263 

was,  would  not  loathe  the  thought  of  engineering  the  rescue 
of  the  man  who  had  sold  to  the  French  the  secrets  of  the 
Senussiya.  He  had,  it  is  true,  sent  messengers  in  search 
of  him;  but  this  was  before  he  had  become  acquainted 
with  the  true  character  of  the  informer;  and  Ley  ton  had 
begun  to  fear  that  Sheikh  Muhamed  had  said  too  much. 
He  was  aware  that  Sidi-Malik  was  not  likable  at  a  distance. 
As  it  was  evident  that  the  camel-driver  possessed  more 
enemies  than  friends,  both  Si-Hamza  and  the  Sultan 
would  be  well  content  to  leave  him  to  his  fate.  But  it  was 
necessary  to  act  at  once;  and  neither  he  nor  Anoun- 
Dialo  could  risk  themselves  in  Bou-Amers  camp  when  they 
knew  that  the  Saharan  chieftain,  in  his  maddening  desire 
for  revenge,  would  torture  all  the  acquaintances  of  d'Or- 
nano  who  would  fall  into  his  power. 

The  help  he  did  not  dare  ask  from  Si-Hamza  was 
tendered  him  by  the  young  sheikh.  Questioned  about  the 
caves  of  the  Zousfana,  Si-Hamza  answered  that  they 
were  former  troglodytic  habitations  occasionally  used  as 
granaries.  When  the  Moslem  army  reached  Figuig,  the 
caverns  had  been  found  partly  stocked.  Their  contents 
had  been  rifled  by  Bou-Amel.  The  fact  that  the  barley 
#thus  obtained  belonged  to  natives  of  the  oasis  and  not  to 
the  French  was  a  consideration  of  little  weight  with  the 
unscrupulous  Maddhi.  The  ruthless  seizure  of  these 
stores  had  been  the  direct  cause  of  his  misunderstanding 
with  Abd-er-Rhaman.  The  caves  were  at  some  distance 
from  Bou-Amers  camp  and  poorly  guarded.  To  effect 
Sidi-Malik's  rescue  might  prove  by  no  means  a  difficult 
task. 

There  was  little  time  left  for  discussion  of  ways  and 


264       IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

means.  Si-Hamza  was  wanted  elsewhere.  They  decided 
that  Dje'ilma  must  undertake  to  acquaint  the  camel-driver 
with  the  attempt  they  were  about  to  make  in  his  behalf. 
She  must  take  with  her  dates  and  figs,  for  they  had  learned 
that  Bou-Amel,  whose  first  plan  had  been  to  starve  his 
captive,  had  refused  him  food  for  the  last  two  days.  For 
fear  that  she  would  not  succeed  in  reaching  the  prisoner, 
Si-Hamza  would  put  Aissaoua  on  the  trail,  with  instructions 
to  them  to  do  all  they  could  to  relieve  Sidi-Malik's  sufferings. 

It  was  now  half-past  eight.  Fighting  was  already  in 
progress  at  several  points.  It  was  now  evident  that  Bou- 
Amel's  troops  would  take  no  effective  part  in  the  day's 
operations.  The  chieftain  sat  immovable  in  his  purpose 
to  storm  d'Ornano's  stronghold;  though  he  fretted  con- 
siderably over  the  fact  that  Abd-er-Rhaman  had  withdrawn 
from  him  the  artillerymen  and  the  Krupp  guns.  He  was 
now  planning  to  rush  his  troops  into  Figuig  by  way  of 
the  river-bed.  To  accomplish  this,  his  men  would  have 
to  pass  under  the  fort  and  hurry  through  the  zone  swept 
by  the  fire  of  rifles  and  machine-guns.  Once  in  the  oasis 
their  position,  far  from  being  improved,  would  become  as 
desperate  as  that  of  a  rat  in  a  trap,  since  eight  bastions, 
instead  of  one,  would  meet  their  advance  by  a  rain  of  shot 
and  shell. 

Knowing  this,  Bou-Amel  had  resolved  to  delay  his  move 
until  word  reached  him  that  some  other  body  of  troops 
had  made  an  entrance.  Then  he  would  follow,  immedi- 
ately completing  the  investing  circuit  around  d'Ornano^ 
position.  He  would  then  starve  the  garrison  or  obtain 
from  the  other  forts  the  guns  which  would  raze  the  de- 
fences and  compel  a  surrender. 


ABD-ER-RHAMAN-ES-SHERIFF  265 

Abd-er-Rhaman,  who  thought  the  plan  an  absurd  one, 
had  taken  care  that  the  Maddhi  should  be  apprised  of  the 
opinion  he  entertained  of  his  poor  generalship.  The 
silent  obstinacy  of  the  one-eyed  chieftain  incensed  him. 
Through  Bou-Amers  determination  to  settle  old  scores, 
forty  thousand  men  had  become  useless  and  would  be 
mere  food  for  d'Ornano's  guns.  The  Sultan  was  now 
sure  that  his  victory,  certain  as  it  was,  would  cost  him 
more  than  the  possession  of  the  oasis  was  worth.  Bou- 
Amel  would  be  the  chief  sufferer;  and  nobody  cared 
what  would  befall  his  undisciplined  troops;  but  the  bad 
effect  of  a  Pyrrhic  victory  on  the  world  at  large  did  not 
leave  Abd-er-Rhaman  indifferent.  Great  losses,  by  casting 
a  slur  on  the  ability  of  the  general  in  chief,  would  render 
recruiting  far  more  difficult,  and  would  increase  the 
confidence  of  the  French  troops.  The  very  thing  Abd-er- 
Rhaman  could  not  afford  to  lose  was  the  faith  of  his 
people.  It  was  that  faith  which  the  chieftain's  obstinacy 
was  now  threatening.  Although  it  was  not  in  his  power 
to  inflict  disciplinary  punishment,  the  Sultan  could  in  a  way 
retaliate.  He  changed  his  decision  to  bestow  Figuig  as  a 
fief  on  Bou-Amel,  and  promised  it  to  Si-Hamza  if  he  en- 
tered the  oasis  first. 

All  this  was  explained  to  Leyton  as  he  rode  forth  along- 
side the  young  chief.  Si-Hamza  was  in  high  spirits. 
Saint-Cyr's  worst  cadet,  the  Pere  Systeme  of  his  class,* 
had  no  concern  whatever  with  tactics  and  strategy.  He 
was  naught  but  a  brilliant  horseman,  a  sort  of  gilded  and 
feathered  Murat.     His   thoughtlessness  rose  to  the  level 

*  The  Pere  Systeme  of  Saint-Cyr  is  the  man  who  graduates  at  the 
foot  of  the  class. 


266        IN   THE   WAKE    OF  THE    GREEN   BANNER 

of  his  courage.  Fortunately,  he  had  enough  sense  to 
take  advice;  and  the  Ouled-Sidi-Sheiks  placed  full  con- 
fidence in  the  baraka  of  his  family.  All  the  details  of 
the  day's  operations  had  carefully  been  gone  over,  the 
previous  evening,  by  Abd-er-Rhaman  and  his  German 
General  Staff.  Si-Hamza's  task  was  to  break  through 
the  enemy's  lines,  to  call  the  people  of  the  oasis  to  arms 
and  to  await  orders.  The  thought  of  what  the  infantry 
would  do  behind  him  gave  him  little  concern.  Abd-er- 
Rhaman  had  said:  "Get  into  Figuig  and  rouse  the 
Moslems  to  battle!"  He  would  get  into  Figuig  no  matter 
how.  The  way  had  been  chosen  for  him ;  it  was  therefore 
practicable.  He  understood  very  well  that  once  in  the 
place  his  duty  would  be  to  attack  the  foe  in  the  rear;  but 
there  would  be  a  German  officer  at  his  side  to  think  in  his 
stead  and  direct  him  where  to  strike. 

Soon  afterwards  they  reached  the  ground  where  the 
Ouled-Sidi-Sheiks  were  waiting  under  arms.  Realizing 
all  the  risks  attendant  upon  this  adventure,  Leyton  thought 
of  prudence  first,  then  upbraided  himself  for  being  a 
coward.  He  was  pleased  to  think  of  his  interview  with 
Abd-er-Rhaman  as  of  a  turning-point  in  his  career.  In 
truth,  as  he  was  not  taking  sides,  and  as  his  sympathies 
were,  if  anything,  with  the  French  defenders,  risking  his 
life  with  Si-Hamza  might  appear  totally  barren  of 
benefits.  But  he  thought  of  the  painter  Alfred  de  Neu- 
ville  fighting  at  Champigny,  Longboyau,  and  Buzenval; 
of  Henri  Regnault,  his  life's  blood  ebbing  away  on  the 
frozen  snow  of  Paris  ramparts.  Had  he  not  decided  to 
try  his  luck  as  a  painter  of  battle-fields  ?  There  were  two 
schools.     Some  followed  the  armies  to  dodge  bullets  if 


ABD-ER-RHAMAN-ES-SHERIFF  267 

they  could.  The  projanum  vulgus  of  the  craft  slowly 
died  of  gas  inhalation  in  some  London  studio  beset  by  fog. 

They  found  the  Ouled-Sidi-Sheiks  already  formed  in 
squadrons.  Before  leaving  Leyton,  Si-Hamza  assigned 
him  a  place  in  the  middle  ranks,  intrusting  him  to  his 
uncle  Mokrani,  an  elderly  man  with  a  magnificent  beard, 
who  was  to  see  that  he  ran  no  unnecessary  risks.  Abd-er- 
Rhaman  sent  shortly  afterwards  five  squadrons  of  Beni- 
Matar.  Si-Hamza  had  now  close  upon  twenty  thousand 
men.  With  drawn  yatagans,  erect  in  the  saddle,  their 
burnouses  so  thrown  over  the  shoulder  as  not  to  interfere 
with  the  movements  of  the  right  arm,  they  were  waiting 
motionless.  On  the  whole,  the  painter  had  never  seen 
a  finer  body  of  horsemen.  Not  only  were  they  unmatched 
for  the  figure  they  made  in  the  saddle,  but  their  motionless, 
sunburnt  faces  bespoke  a  tranquillity  of  feeling  unattain- 
able by  any  but  the  fatalistic  Moslem.  Conversations  were 
few  and  jokes  unheard.  All  were  intently  watching  small 
pickets  of  infantry,  on  the  move  towards  the  bastion  upon 
which  Abd-er-Rhaman  had  concentrated  the  fire  of  his 
Krupp  guns. 

The  void  of  the  battle-field  was  absolutely  overwhelming. 
Firing  had  now  developed  volume  on  both  sides.  At 
least  forty  thousand  Moslem  troops  were  packed  within  a 
five-mile  radius;  yet  all  that  could  be  seen  of  the  opera- 
tions was  the  smoke  of  fire-arms  and  the  occasional  dash 
of  a  score  or  two  of  men.  Nothing  more  startling  than  the 
sudden  appearance  of  a  small  body  of  troops,  its  two 
hundred  yards'  sprint  and  its  sudden  collapse  and  dis- 
appearance! It  might  have  seemed  a  game  of  hide-and- 
seek  except  for  the  aerial  death  that  now  and  again  struck 


268        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

a  runner  in  full  career.  Bullets  raised  the  dust  where  he 
had  been.  One  shell  exploded  behind,  one  in  front  and 
one  straight  overhead.  And  yet,  two  minutes  afterwards, 
he  made  the  same  startling  reappearance  and  renewed  the 
performance  until  the  wind  of  death  bowled  him  over. 

It  was  the  same  for  the  artillery.  As  soon  as  one 
captain  had  the  range,  the  chief  of  the  opposing  battery 
removed  to  some  safer  spot.  Three  times  out  of  five  he 
succeeded  in  reversing  the  roles,  and  then  profited  by  the 
few  minutes  that  were  left  him  to  shell  the  infantry  and 
the  cavalry  of  the  foe.  Here,  nevertheless,  Abd-er-Rhaman 
was  at  a  decided  disadvantage.  His  cannon  was  not  as 
quick-firing  and  mobile  as  the  French  guns. 


CHAPTER  XX 


Leyton  had  been  watching  for  half  an  hour,  when  all  of 
a  sudden  he  caught  sight  of  an  estafette  riding  at  full 
speed  towards  the  Ouled-Sidi-Sheiks.  Anticipating  an 
order  to  charge,  Si-Hamza  raised  an  arm  to  command 
attention.  All  his  khai'ds  repeated  the  gesture.  The 
painter  lowered  his  glance  shamefacedly,  knowing  that  he 
was  losing  color. 

A  hopeless  feeling  came  over  him.  He  was  sure  he 
would  see  nothing  of  the  fight.  He  could  not  take  his 
eyes  off  Si-Hamza.  The  arm  of  the  sheikh,  still  extended, 
took  a  horizontal  position. 

Instinctively  giving  rein,  Leyton  pressed  the  knee. 
Slowly,  very  slowly,  the  horses  began  to  move.  Si-Hamza's 
clenched  fist  and  yatagan  went  up  and  down  three  or 
four  times  in  rapid  succession.  The  American  brought 
his  heel  to  his  horse's  flank  and  clacked  his  tongue.  This 
was  trot. 

They  trotted  two  minutes.     Leyton  wondered.     Arab 

horses  are  not  taught  trotting.     Perhaps  Si-Hamza's  two 

years  in  Saint-Cyr  had  not  been  lost  time,  after  all.     In 

front  of  the  column,  bullets  began  to  raise  the  dust.     The 

sloping  ground  was  yellow  and  uniform.     Nothing  could 

be  seen  of  the  bastion,  nothing  of  the  oasis.    Behind  them, 

269 


270        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

a  little  to  the  right,  some  infantry,  in  deployed  forma- 
tion, advanced  by  leaps  and  bounds.  Outside  of  powder 
smoke,  the  universe  was  themselves,  a  few  shrubs,  the 
ochrous  sands  and  the  blue  sky. 

They  were  being  shot  at.  Spent  bullets  did  not  consti- 
tute a  danger;  but  the  field-guns  were  trying  the  range, 
some  of  the  shells  falling  short  of  the  mark,  others  bursting 
too  far  off.  All  at  once  Leyton  saw,  at  his  eye's  level,  a 
red  flame.     Then  the  universe  rent  asunder. 

He  had  closed  his  eyes  instinctively.  When  he  opened 
them  he  saw  four  bundles  of  bleeding  stuff  blocking  his 
way.  Human  shape,  blighted  by  the  fearful  wind,  was  no 
more.  Sweating,  and  a  prey  to  nausea,  rapid  chills  run- 
ning up  his  back,  he  passed  by,  feeling  deathly  sick.  He 
sought  Si-Hamza's  arm  despairingly.  God !  God !  when 
would  it  move  ?  The  captain  of  that  field  battery  had  the 
range  and  shells  were  now  coming  fast.  Si-Hamza's  arm 
began  to  describe  circles.  Gallop!  .  .  .  His  heart  leaped. 
At  last  action  would  relieve  this  agony.  He  saw  Si-Hamza's 
face  and  heard  a  hoarse  voice: 

"Aroua!  Aroua  mena!  Ya  illah  il  Allah;  ya  Mvr 
hamed  rats  vl  Allah!" 

A  spring  from  his  horse  threw  him  backwards  in  the 
saddle.     He  was  caught  in  the  whirl  of  a  tempest  of  yells: 

"  Ya  illah  ul  Allah.  Ya  Muhamed  ra'is  id  Allah! 
Allah  Akbar!" 

The  rest  was  a  blur;  a  sensation  of  motion  similar  to 
that  experienced  when  two  express  trains  pass  each  other. 
The  shriek  filled  the  heavens.  A  torrent,  a  tornado 
swept  the  hot  sands.  The  burnous  of  a  neighbor  slapped 
him  in  the  face;    a  yatagan  whistled  dangerously  close. 


"under  the  shadow  of  swords"        271 

The  head  of  his  leaping  horse  struck  him  lightly  on  the 
chin.  With  no  eye  for  the  landscape  that  fled  behind, 
he  was  intent  solely  upon  freeing  his  right  knee,  caught 
between  the  saddle  and  the  boot  of  his  neighbor. 

The  column  was  fired  upon  from  two  forts.  The 
horsemen  of  both  sides,  instinctively  closing  upon  the 
centre,  had  so  reduced  the  space  allowed  laterally  to  each 
man  that  the  whole  mass  now  moved  with  the  compactness 
of  a  Roman  testudo.  But  its  motion  forward  was  not 
hampered ;  and  as  they  penetrated  deeper  within  the  zone 
swept  by  shot  and  shell,  voids  in  the  ranks  eased  the 
pressure.  Leyton  was  conscious  of  a  great  emptiness  in 
the  stomach  and  of  an  accrued  sensitiveness  of  the  scalp. 
Without  being  aware  of  it,  he  was  talking  aloud.  His 
personality  was  strangely  disjointed,  severed  into  its 
component  parts  as  it  were;  his  moral  self  accusing  his 
physical  self  of  cowardice,  and  the  latter  offering  whatever 
excuses  it  deemed  most  likely  to  soothe  its  enraged 
master.  Fear  that  his  horse  would  be  wounded  and  throw 
him  into  the  midst  of  this  inferno  had  him  by  the  throat. 
Two  or  three  times  he  felt  that  he  was  trampling  some 
wounded  man.  Horses  he  often  jumped.  When  his 
mount  sank  to  its  knees  he  gave  a  scream. 

The  stallion  had  only  stumbled.  He  rose.  The 
Ouled-Sidi-Sheiks  were  still  climbing  the  slope.  Once 
Leyton  turned  his  head  and  beheld  the  ground  behind 
him  covered  with  fallen  horses  and  horsemen.  It  was 
but  a  glimpse;  but  it  was  enough  to  show  him  that  all 
who  had  fallen  were  not  dead.  Riders  without  horses 
held  up  their  hands  in  sign  of  surrender.  Some  struck  by 
bullets  fell  down,  face  in  the  dust.     Others  sought  con- 


272        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

cealment  behind  corpses.  Horses  without  riders  galloped 
aimlessly  here  and  there.  Then,  projectiles  came  their 
way,  and  they  turned  turtle  after  fits  of  violent  kicking. 

When  he  looked  again  towards  the  front  he  failed  to  see 
Si-Hamza.  But  before  he  had  time  to  fear  for  the  young 
man  he  realized  that  the  front  ranks  had  reached  the  top 
and  were  now  going  down.  Ten  seconds  later  he  saw  the 
oasis. 

Figuig  was  there,  at  the  bottom  of  the  hollow,  a  lake  of 
palms.  A  sigh  of  relief  escaped  him.  The  column  was 
out  of  rifle  range.  His  feeling  of  comparative  safety  did 
not  last  long,  however.  They  had  been  seen  from  all 
bastions,  and  death  was  now  on  all  sides.  The  palms, 
which  alone  could  afford  some  shelter,  were  still  far  away, 
and  shells,  coming  from  everywhere,  followed  them  as 
they  moved  forward. 

He  thought  with  despair  that  this  would  be  annihilation, 
that  this  slope  would  be  his  grave.  He  felt  so  thirsty  that 
he  tore  a  button  from  his  caftan  and  put  it  in  his  mouth 
to  stimulate  salivation.  On!  On!  His  horse  was  cov- 
ered with  foam.  The  palms  appeared  nearer  now. 
Another  minute  passed  by.  Suddenly,  issuing  from  behind 
a  ridge,  a  squadron  of  Chasseurs  d'Afrique  took  them  in 
flank. 

Six  hundred  men,  all  told !  When  he  realized  that  this 
handful  of  centaurs  had  assumed  the  apparently  impossible 
task  of  breaking  the  impetus  of  Si-Ham  za's  cavalry, 
Ley  ton  remained  open-mouthed,  his  admiration  and 
enthusiasm  verging  on  tears.  For  twenty  seconds  he  was 
able  to  watch  the  rhythmic  motion  of  the  frenzied  horses. 
They  plunged  forward  with  heads  upheld,  the  reins  flat 


"  UNDER  THE   SHADOW  OF  SWORDS "  273 

on  the  neck,  springing  like  gazelles  at  the  contact  of  the 
spur.  Some  made  desperate  attempts  at  getting  hold  of 
the  bit,  the  mouth  soapy  with  pink  foam.  Their  riders 
were  bent  on  the  saddle,  their  right  fist  helving  the  sabre 
and  resting  against  the  body,  slightly  above  the  belt. 

There  was  a  shock,  a  sudden  stop  and  a  general  collapse. 
The  painter's  horse,  his  neck  on  the  rump  of  another 
animal,  hard  pressed  from  behind,  sat  down  so  suddenly 
that  the  stirrup  leather  snapped  under  the  weight  of  his 
rider.  For  a  minute  Leyton  was  in  the  vortex  of  this 
cyclone.  At  his  side,  Khai'd  Mokrani  grabbed  more 
solidly  the  reins  of  his  bridle  and  prepared  to  strike,  the 
blade  of  his  yatagan  over  his  left  shoulder.  All  around 
it  was  a  rumble  of  men  and  beasts.  The  painter  was 
ground  between,  rolled  from  right  to  left.  Knees  were 
crushing  his  legs.  His  horse,  getting  up,  began  rearing. 
Shots  were  fired  almost  in  his  face.  He  heard  the  clash 
of  yatagans  against  sabres  and  saw  the  gleam  of  shining 
steel  prolong  the  gesture  of  naked  arms.  Bitten  by  curved 
blades,  swarthy  faces  were  streaming  with  blood.  A  push 
more  violent  than  the  preceding  disengaged  the  Chasseurs. 
It  was  over;  the  squadron  had  cut  clear  through  the 
Moslem  lines.  But  at  what  cost!  Scarcely  two  hundred 
men  remained  in  the  saddle.  They  made  straight  for  the 
oasis. 

Leyton  saw  Si-Hamza  gallop  after  a  lieutenant  who 
had  fallen,  face  downwards,  on  the  neck  of  his  mount. 
He  caught  hold  of  the  bridle  and  succeeded,  after  a 
struggle,  in  quieting  the  frightened  animal.  A  chaouch 
took  charge  of  the  wounded  man.  Back  in  his  place  at 
the  head  of  the  column,  Si-Hamza  raised  his  arm  and 


274        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

described  a  circle.  Gallop!  They  had  not  covered  a 
mile  when  a  wall  of  powder  smoke  rose  before  them, 
hiding  the  oasis.     They  heard  the  rattle  of  machine-guns. 

Leyton  saw  men  fall  around  him  like  withered  leaves. 
No  longer  master  of  his  wounded  horse,  he  was  sepa- 
rated from  the  main  body  of  the  column.  For  a  minute 
he  attempted  vainly  to  recover  control.  To  avoid  turning 
turtle  with  the  saddle,  he  had  been  compelled  to  abandon 
the  other  stirrup.  Undoubtedly  this  saved  his  life.  Weak- 
ened by  the  infernal  gallop  and  the  loss  of  blood,  the 
stallion  fell  foul  on  the  root  of  a  terebinth,  stumbled, 
rolled  over  himself  and  broke  his  neck. 

Dazed  by  the  fearful  fall,  Leyton  got  up  painfully, 
feeling  for  broken  ribs.  He  was  on  the  bank  of  an  irriga- 
tion canal,  alone  and  unhurt.  The  nightmare  was  a  thing 
of  the  past. 

He  flung  himself  face  downwards.  His  thirst  quenched, 
he  made  a  rapid  survey  of  his  surroundings.  Ten  feet 
away  lay  his  dead  horse.  On  one  side  was  the  dreary 
slope  strewn  with  dead;  on  the  other  the  peace  and 
fragrance  of  sunny  gardens.  The  shells  had  followed 
the  Ouled-Sidi-Sheiks.  He  heard  shooting  in  the 
distance.  Inferring  that  Si-Hamza  had  come  in  contact 
with  French  troops,  he  went  northward. 

Very  soon  he  came  upon  a  Moslem  cemetery.  Crossing 
it,  he  found  himself  on  a  macadamized  road  at  the  entrance 
of  a  ksar.  There  had  been  no  fighting  in  this  village, 
but  he  heard  firing  a  little  way  to  the  north.  The  ksar 
was  deserted.  Mud  houses  and  mere  gourbis  with 
thatched  roofs  stood  around  a  dilapidated  mosque. 
Frightened  hens  were  all  that  was  alive  in  the  place.     A 


"  UNDER  THE   SHADOW  OF  SWORDS  "  275 


wrecked  wagon,  filled  with  manure,  occupied  the  middle 
of  the  road,  and  a  horse  had  broken  a  foreleg  by  coming 
unaware  upon  the  obstacle.  No  rider  was  in  sight. 
Leyton  shot  the  sufferer. 

He  thought  he  would  climb  on  top  of  the  mosque's 
minaret  to  see  whence  the  firing  proceeded.  As  he 
passed  the  threshold  he  met  with  the  mutilated  bodies 
of  two  men  who  wore  the  uniform  of  the  Bataillons 
d'Afrique.  On  his  way  up  he  found  another  soldier  who 
had  been  thrown  headlong  on  the  staircase.  All  were 
dead.  On  top  he  encountered  a  fourth  corpse  who  wore 
the  badge  of  a  telephone  operator.  His  instrument  was 
untouched,  but  the  wires  were  cut.  The  painter  found 
the  tool  that  had  been  used  in  the  cutting  in  the  clenched 
fingers  of  the  dead  man.  Leyton  assumed  that  natives 
of  the  oasis  were  responsible  for  the  deed;  Si-Hamza's 
goums  would  have  preferred  cold  steel. 

The  date  palms  were  so  high  that  even  from  his  eleva- 
tion he  could  not  see  very  distinctly  what  took  place  in  the 
neighboring  ksar.  Only  the  roofs  of  the  village  were  dis- 
tinguishable, and  these  were  crowded  with  natives  who 
were  firing  into  the  streets.  He  observed  that  the  forts 
had  ceased  their  shelling,  a  sure  indication  that  the  French 
garrison  was  still  holding  out.  A  quarter  of  an  hour, 
twenty  minutes  went  by.  He  suddenly  caught  sight  of 
a  horseman  in  red  burnous  riding  at  breakneck  speed 
between  two  rows  of  white  walls,  high  up  on  the  road 
connecting  the  two  ksour.  Four  horsemen  followed  him 
in  hot  pursuit.  These  he  soon  recognized  for  Ouled- 
Sidi-Sheiks.  But  it  was  not  until  the  first  man  reached 
the  foot  of  the  position  he  himself  occupied  that  his  eye 


276        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

distinguished  the  two  large  gold  bands  of  the  burnous 
indicating  the  Frenchman's  rank — quartermaster-sergeant 
in  a  regiment  of  spahis. 

He  bled  profusely  from  a  sabre  cut  in  the  head.  Ley  ton 
hailed  him  in  French;  but  he  paid  no  heed.  He  was 
superbly  mounted,  and  soon  disappeared  in  the  cemetery. 
Si-Hamza's  goums  came  clattering  along,  raising  clouds 
of  white  dust.  One  of  them  sprang  clean  over  the  broken 
cart  and  the  dead  horse,  lithe  as  a  panther,  in  a  magnificent 
leap.  Leyton  lost  sight  of  them  for  a  while.  Then  he 
saw  them  reappear  behind  the  belt  of  palms.  The  French 
soldier  was  gaining.  A  little  further  away,  he  saw  the 
pursuers  hesitate.  They  were  being  shot  at.  Shortly 
afterwards  they  stopped  altogether  and  turned  back, 
leaving  the  spahi  to  continue  alone  his  ride  towards 
d'Ornano's  fort. 

Leyton's  eye  followed  him  until  he  disappeared  beyond 
a  ridge.  Then  he  noticed  that  d'Ornano's  bastion, 
although  enveloped  in  clouds  of  powder  smoke,  was  no 
longer  firing  on  the  oasis.  Bou-Amel  was  active  again, 
evidently.  He  turned  to  the  four  corners  of  the  compass 
to  make  sure  that  no  Moslem  troops  had  as  yet  reached 
the  crest  in  an  attempt  to  storm  the  forts. 

He  waited,  feeling  as  forlorn  as  Robinson  Crusoe  on  his 
desert  island.  The  forts  had  ceased  firing  on  the  oasis, 
and  quiet  hung  heavy  on  the  sea  of  shining  palm  foliage 
which  not  a  breath  of  air  disturbed.  While  the  tempest 
of  human  contest  raged  on  the  outskirts,  this  spot  remained 
as  smiling  and  fragrant  as  a  South  Sea  atoll  as  yet  undis- 
covered. Leyton  was,  for  the  twentieth  time,  asking  him- 
self what  had  become  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  ksar,  when 


" UNDER  THE   SHADOW  OF  SWORDS "  277 

he  saw  something  blue  and  white  move  among  the  palms. 
It  seemed  a  moving  bundle  of  rags.  Then  it  resolved 
itself  into  a  young  girl. 

She  stood  stock  still  on  the  road,  near  the  cemetery,  not 
daring  to  enter  the  village.  In  a  few  minutes  she  was 
joined  by  several  women  and  children.  All  started  to 
enter  the  place,  but  only  to  fall  back  in  disorder  when 
they  noticed  the  painter.  A  little  boy  mustered  enough 
nerve  to  try  another  time.  Another  followed  him,  and 
both  became  much  interested  in  the  dead  horse.  Then 
all  came  forward. 

D'Ornano's  bastion,  which  had  fired  so  long  and  so 
heavily,  was  now  quiet.  Only  two  things  could  have 
happened.  Either  Bou-Amel  had  forced  the  pass,  or  he 
had  suffered  another  set-back.  Shortly  afterwards,  the 
fort  reopened  fire  on  the  oasis.  The  painter  chuckled  as 
he  pictured  to  himself  the  Maddhi  sitting  down  in  his 
ravine,  again  waiting  for  a  stroke  of  luck.  He  suddenly 
became  aware  that  the  fire  of  all  bastions  had  shifted  to 
the  west.  Looking,  he  saw  that  Moslem  infantry  had 
reached  the  crest  and  were  now  gushing  down  in  the 
direction  of  the  oasis.  The  fate  of  Figuig  was  sealed;  it 
had  become  a  mere  question  of  hours. 

A  thundering  noise  of  hoofs  and  wheels  caused  him  to 
turn  towards  the  oasis  once  more.  On  the  road,  field 
artillery  came  clattering  along  at  breakneck  speed,  six 
horses  to  each  carriage.  The  leaders  had  all  they  could 
do  to  manage  two  horses  apiece  and  see  that  they  were 
keeping  proper  distances,  the  chance  of  horses  jumping 
their  harness  and  then  kicking  to  free  themselves  being 
wholly  dependent  upon  the  skill  of  the  riders.     The  gun- 


278        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

ners  sat  arm  in  arm  on  the  seat  of  each  carriage,  afraid  of 
a  fall,  their  teeth  set,  leaving  the  bench  each  time  the  wheel 
struck  a  stone,  painfully  conscious  of  the  fact  that  each 
gun  behind  them  weighed  two  tons.  The  Captain 
commanded : 

"In  battery  .  .  .  halt!" 

In  a  twinkle  the  guns  faced  the  enemy;  the  caissons  of 
ammunition  stood  upright  and  open;  the  horses  were 
gone.  Behind  the  caissons,  the  purveyors  stood,  holding 
a  shell  apiece,  ready  to  pass  them  to  the  puncher.  This 
man  was  kneeling  near  his  machine,  waiting  to  hear  for 
what  distance  he  was  to  open  the  fuse.  The  charger 
bridged  the  gap  between  him  and  the  breechlock.  The 
firer  stood  outside  the  wheels  to  avoid  the  recoil  of  the 
gun. 

"At  fifteen  hundred  yards,"  commanded  the  Captain. 

The  pointer  came  back  at  a  run  and  rapidly  turned  a 
wheel.  Then  he  withdrew,  facing  the  firer.  The  sergeant 
raised  his  hand. 

"Ready!" 

"Ready!  .  .  .  Ready!  .  .  .  Ready!"  said  the  three 
other  sergeants  in  turn. 

"Fire!" 

Four  detonations.  The  spades  buried  themselves  in 
the  earth.  There  would  now  be  no  recoil;  the  sliding 
motion  of  the  gun  on  its  support  was  without  danger  to 
the  men.  Pointer  and  firer  flung  themselves  at  their 
places,  pulled  down  the  shields  and  sat  down.  The 
Captain  commanded. 

"Twelve  hundred  yards/" 

Opening  the  breech,  the  firer  ejected  the  burnt  cart- 


"under  the  shadow  of  swords"        279 

ridge.  The  charger  took  a  new  shell  from  the  hands  of  the 
puncher.  Fire!  It  took  the  Captain  ten  seconds  to  judge 
of  the  result. 

"Thirteen  hundred  yards!  Continue  firing !"  he  bel- 
lowed. "Keep  going,  boys,  and  give  them  hell.  A 
hundred  sous  apiece  to  the  crew  of  the  best-served  gun  and 
a  louis  to  the  best  gunner." 

The  four  75mm.  were  belching  shells  at  the  rate  of  a 
hundred  a  minute.  Caisson  followed  caisson.  The 
tumult  was  so  deafening  that  Leyton  did  not  hear  in- 
fantry bugles  blowing  the  "charge."  The  next  minute, 
Turcos,  Zouaves  and  Joyeux  appeared  on  the  road  and 
flooded  the  ksar. 

The  painter  saw  them  scatter  in  the  gardens  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  oasis,  jump  from  tree  to  tree,  fire  a  shot 
and  jump  again.  So  absorbing  was  the  spectacle  that 
he  did  not  notice  that  officers  were  entering  the  mosque. 
He  was  leaning  on  the  balustrade  when  a  hand  grasped 
him  by  his  burnous.  He  found  himself  facing  three 
captains  and  a  lieutenant-colonel. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you  ?"  he  protested  in  French. 
"What  do  you  take  me  for,  anyway?  For  a  cushion  or 
for  a  spy?" 

The  four  men  exchanged  a  look  of  surprise.  The  Lieu- 
tenant-Colonel ordered  him  to  get  up  and  asked  him  who 
he  was.  Leyton  gave  his  name,  declared  that  he  was  a 
painter  and  very  wrathfully  spoke  of  his  American  citizen- 
ship.    His  outburst  caused  everybody  to  smile. 

"Calm  yourself,"  said  the  Lieutenant-Colonel.  "A  spy 
may  be  a  Nicaraguan  or  even  Cingalese.  We  have  them 
at  home;    and  until  now  I  have  not  heard  that  it  was 


280        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

sufficient  to  be  American  to  be  free  from  guilt.  What  did 
you  say  your  name  was?" 

"Ley  ton.  George  Ley  ton.  I  am  a  nephew  of  the  late 
General  de  Diolie,  killed  six  weeks  ago  in  Marakesh." 

"Oh,  by  Jove!"  exclaimed  one  of  the  captains.  "He 
is  the  man  d'Ornano  left  in  Igli,  with  that  camel-driver." 

"Or  some  Englishman  in  Abd-er-Rhaman's  pay," 
vouchsafed  the  officer  who  had  seized  the  painter.  "It 
is  strange  that  we  should  find  him  here  with  a  dead  man. 
Mr.  Leyton  can,  perhaps,  explain  why  there  are  only'  five 
bullets  in  his  six-shooter?" 

Leyton  interrupted  him  furiously:  "There  are  three 
men  dead  down-stairs,"  he  shouted.  "Do  you  believe  me 
able  to  shoot  four  men  with  one  bullet?  There  is  also  a 
dead  horse.  Go  and  look  him  over.  When  I  find  a 
wounded  animal  on  the  road,  I  claim  the  right  to  end  his 
torture.  Do  you  think  that  a  spy  would  have  waited  for 
your  coming?" 

"  But  how  did  you  come  here  and  what  were  you  doing  ?  " 
asked  the  Lieutenant-Colonel. 

"I  followed  Si-Hamza  out  of  curiosity.  It  is  to  him 
that  I  owe  my  rescue.  Major  d'Ornano  will  tell  you  how 
he  came  to  employ  himself  in  my  behalf.  My  horse  was 
shot  under  me  during  the  charge,  and  I  found  myself 
alone.  I  came  here.  Nothing  strange  in  that,  is  there? 
If  the  business  of  a  soldier  is  to  fight,  my  business  as  a 
painter  is  to  see  the  fighting.  That's  all  I  have  to  tell  you. 
Mile,  de  Diolie  is  in  Figuig;  so  is  Major  d'Ornano.  You 
can  identify  me  easily  enough." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  Lieutenant-Colonel.  "Captain 
Maugis   will   hand   you   back  your  revolver,   with   our 


"  UNDER  THE   SHADOW   OF   SWORDS  "  281 

apologies,  and  will  take  you  down-stairs.  I  shall  attend  to 
you  later  on." 

Maugis  made  no  difficulty  in  obeying  and  proffering 
his  hand.  Ley  ton  took  it.  They  descended  and  waited 
under  the  porch  of  the  mosque.  At  the  end  of  ten  minutes 
the  Lieutenant-Colonel  came  down.  He  approached 
absent-mindedly,  a  look  of  concern  on  his  face.  When 
the  Captain  saluted,  he  raised  his  glance. 

"  Oh  yes,"  he  said,  noticing  Leyton.  "  Maugis,  put  this 
gentleman  on  the  front  seat  of  some  automobile  of  the  Red 
Cross,  and  give  him  in  charge  to  the  sergeant,  with  in- 
structions to  take  him  to  the  hospital,  in  El-Hamam  Su- 
perior. If  Mile,  de  Diolie  identifies  him  as  her  cousin,  he 
is  to  go  free;  if  not,  twelve  bullets  and  a  blindfold.  Not 
that  I  expect  to  shoot  you,"  he  added,  turning  to  the 
painter,  "  but  I  must  provide  against  contingencies.  Tell 
that  ambulance  to  hurry  up,  Maugis !  In  an  hour  this  place 
will  be  a  bloody  charnel,  or  I  lose  my  name.     Hurry  up!" 

Maugis  brought  his  hand  to  his  kepi,  made  a  sign  to 
Leyton  to  follow  and  wheeled  around.  On  the  way,  the 
painter  learned  that  Si-Hamza  had  succeeded  in  occupying 
and  holding  the  ksar  of  Zenaga.  But  he  had  not  since 
dared  show  himself  outside  the  walls.  Fierce  fighting  had 
taken  place  in  the  streets.  The  Ouled-Sidi-Sheiks,  who 
owed  their  success  to  the  rising  of  the  native  population, 
awaited,  before  pushing  forward,  the  arrival  of  the  infantry 
Abd-er-Rhaman  was  now  sending  to  their  support. 
Questioned  as  to  whether  the  bastions  would  be  able  to 
hold,  Maugis  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  laughed.  It 
would  take  Abd-er-Rhaman  a  week  to  occupy  them,  and 
each  position  would  have  to  be  stormed  in  turn.     The 


282        IN   THE    WAKE   OF  THE    GREEN   BANNER 

wonder  was  not  that  Figuig  should  fall,  but  that  Abd-er- 
Rhaman  should  effect  its  capture  without  leaving  less 
than  one-third  of  his  troops  in  the  ditch. 

At  the  northern  end  of  the  village  they  reached  a  small 
piazza  where  three  automobile  trucks,  bearing  the  Red 
Cross  of  Geneva,  were  waiting,  lined  against  a  wall. 
Ley  ton  ceased  speaking,  a  prey  to  a  feeling  of  sadness  and 
reverence  in  the  face  of  this,  the  other  side  of  war,  the 
reward  of  heroism.  From  time  to  time,  men  of  the 
hospital  corps  came  at  a  run,  carrying  a  litter.  A  limp 
form  was  lifted  and  deposited,  none  too  gently,  in  the 
heavy  wagon,  where  a  young  surgeon  gave  the  first  aid. 
There  were  very  few  groans,  the  wounded  being  mostly 
natives.  Leyton,  who  had  seen  the  Aissaoua,  was  not 
surprised.  These  Turcos  were  the  brothers  of  the  men 
he  had  seen  grind  glass  between  their  teeth  and  dance  on 
live  coals,  without  desisting  a  second  from  the  impassivity 
of  fakirs. 

The  sergeant  came  to  call  him  away  from  his  con- 
templation. A  ten  minutes'  ride  took  them  to  El-Hamam 
Superior. 

At  the  hospital  a  mawkish  smell  of  ethylic  ether,  iodoform 
and  carbolic  acid  reached  Leyton  before  he  passed  the 
threshold.  He  climbed  the  stairs  and  opened  a  door. 
He  saw  long  rows  of  beds  so  close  together  that  they  almost 
touched.  Pale  faces  on  the  pillows,  dirty  hands  on  the 
white  sheets.  The  windows  were  open  on  the  shady  side. 
Green  blinds  were  drawn  tight  on  the  other.  Two  men 
in  white  aprons  were  taking  away  an  operating-table.  A 
third  attendant,  his  forefinger  on  the  wrist  of  a  patient, 
was  washing  a  thermometer  in  a  glass.     At  the  far  end  of 


"  UNDER  THE   SHADOW  OP  SWORDS "  283 

the  room  a  man  screamed  in  agony.  Leyton  crossed  the 
floor  with  as  little  noise  as  possible,  made  a  gesture  to  call 
the  attention  of  the  men  carrying  the  table,  asked  for 
Mile,  de  Diolie  and  waited. 

Save  for  the  distant  roar  of  cannonading,  all  was  quiet 
in  El-Harnam.  He  looked  around,  considerably  embar- 
rassed, conscious  of  the  strange  figure  he  cut  in  his  native 
garments.  At  the  other  end  of  the  room  the  door  was 
opened  by  the  sergeant,  and  two  men  entered  with  a  litter. 
An  elderly  man  with  eye-glasses,  whose  apron  was  smeared 
with  blood,  followed  on  their  footsteps  like  a  gust  of  wind. 
Brandishing  a  surgical  instrument  of  some  kind,  a  saw,  it 
seemed  to  Leyton,  he  thundered : 

"Not  here.  Are  you  crazy,  sergeant?  Where  do  you 
suppose  I  will  find  room,  tonnerre  de  Dieu!  Take  them  to 
the  Mission  of  the  White  Fathers  of  Figuig,  and  wait  for 
Farlede."  Then  noticing  Leyton — "Who  is  that  pie- 
faced,  thundering  idiot  over  there  ?  I  have  not  enough  to 
attend  to,  I  suppose  ?  They  will  send  me  every  blooming 
native  with  a  colic  or  a  horse  kick.  Give  him  a  dose  of 
ipecacuanha  and  persuade  him  to  go  and  shake  his  vermin 
in  the  street.  I  will  have  no  beggars  of  this  kind  in  my 
hospital."  Here  the  sergeant  spoke  a  few  words  in  his 
ear.  "Oh,  that's  all  right,  that's  all  right!  .  .  .  Apologize 
for  me,  will  you;  I  have  no  time.  I  need  Mile,  de  Diolie 
mighty  bad  just  now,  but  I'll  send  her  directly.  What's 
the  temperature  of  No.  3,  Jaumard?" 

"One  hundred  and  four,  one-tenth,"  answered  the  at- 
tendant with  the  thermometer  and  the  glass. 

"Then  the  ice  and  mighty  quick!  What  are  you  dream- 
ing about?" 


284        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

He  went,  banging  the  door.  Considerably  annoyed, 
Leyton  turned  towards  the  window,  seeking  the  landscape. 
Ever  since  last  night  the  image  of  d'Ornano  presented 
itself  to  him  far  too  often  to  leave  him  his  peace  of  mind; 
still,  this  time,  as  on  former  occasions,  he  felt  invincibly 
attracted  by  the  bastion  of  the  Wad-el-Haluf.  The 
thought  that,  in  a  minute,  he  would  see  Gisele  filled  him 
both  with  happiness  and  discomfort.  The  reason  why 
she  had  decided  to  remain  in  Figuig  and  perform  this 
thankless  task  was  a  puzzle  he  almost  feared  to  elucidate. 
While  listening  to  Si-Hamza  the  night  before,  he  had  felt 
a  pang;  he  had  envied  d'Ornano  the  opportunity  he  himself 
had  never  had  to  rise  above  the  common  lot.  An  obscure 
premonition,  little  facts  he  now  remembered,  caused  him 
to  fear  that  his  cousin  had  a  secret  in  which  he  had  no 
share.  The  thought  that  in  a  few  days  d'Ornano,  com- 
pelled to  surrender,  would  leave  him  a  free  field,  came 
almost  as  a  relief.  But  the  next  second  he  loathed  him- 
self for  this  pang  of  jealous  anguish.  At  any  rate,  if  the 
Corsican  had  sought  to  win,  he  could  not  accuse  him  of 
having  taken  an  unfair  advantage.  He  set  his  teeth.  For 
weeks  to  come,  Gisele  would  be  so  dependent  upon  him 
that  there  might  be  still  a  chance  to  regain  lost  ground. 
God  grant  that  in  his  turn  he  would  prove  an  efficient 
protector. 

"You,  George!    You!  ..." 

She  came  forward  with  extended  hands,  very  pale  and 
tired,  but  as  pretty  as  ever  in  the  short  sleeves  and  simple 
garb  of  the  hospital  nurse.  His  look  was  so  searching 
that  she  reddened.  Was  her  secret,  then,  branded  on  her 
face?    It  was  not  enough  for  her  to  suffer  torture;    she 


"under  the  shadow  of  swords"        285 

must  also  cause  suffering  to  another!  As  he  probed  her 
soul  with  a  glance,  her  eyes  became  bright  with  tears.  But 
his  expression  had  already  softened  when  she  fell  sobbing 
on  his  shoulder. 

Poor  Ley  ton!  She  wept  over  the  distress  the  knowledge 
of  the  secret  of  her  heart  would  bring  him,  she  thought. 
In  reality,  she  was  recovering  through  the  time-honored 
process  of  hysterics.  The  strain  had  been  too  great  for 
her  frailty.  In  the  last  two  days,  cannon  had  been  roaring 
incessantly  in  the  Wad-el-Haluf. 

"Come,"  she  said.  "I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,  George. 
We  must  telephone  to  the  bastion  that  you  are  free. 
Major  d'Ornano  spoke  of  you  only  this  morning." 

Ley  ton  followed  her  into  the  operating-room.  She 
flung  herself  against  the  wall  and  unhooked  the  receiver. 

"Hello!"  she  called.  "Give  me  the  bastion  of  Tarla. 
Yes,  the  Wad-el-Haluf.  ...  I  say  Tarla's  bastion.  Yes, 
this  is  the  hospital." 

She  waited.  At  her  right,  the  painter  was  able  to  hear, 
carried  by  the  line,  the  crackling  of  machine-guns. 

"  Hello,  central!  .  .  .  Oh,  who  is  this  ?  Tarla's  bastion. 
...  Is  this  Tarla's  bastion?  I  can't  hear  you.  .  .  . 
Won't  you  speak  louder,  please.  This  is  Mile,  de  Diolie 
talking.  .  .  .  Mile,  de  Diolie.  .  .  .  Oh,  is  that  you, 
Lieutenant  di  Borgo  ?  I  am  well,  thank  you.  I  wish  to 
speak  to  Major  d'Ornano.  I  hear  you;  but  what  are  you 
complaining  about?  He  is  busy?  .  .  .  Oh,  please!  .  .  . 
Tell  him  that  George  is  here.  George  Leyton,  my  cousin. 
.  .  .  What  did  you  say?  .  .  .  Oh!  All  right.  Yes;  you 
are  forgiven  if  you  tell  him." 

Two  minutes  passed. 


286        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

"Major  d'Ornano?  Ah,  at  last!  .  .  .  Gisele  de  Diolie, 
yes.  George  is  here.  ...  I  say  George.  ...  I  am  very 
well,  thank  you.  How  do  you  feel  ?  .  .  .  No,  I  am  not  too 
tired.  I  try  not  to.  .  .  .  What  was  it  you  said?  .  .  . 
Who  ?  George  ?  .  .  .  Indeed,  I  don't  know.  He  is  here, 
that's  all.  I  have  not  had  time  to  ask  him  where  he  comes 
from.     Do  you  wish  to  speak  to  him  ?" 

She  passed  the  receiver  to  Leyton.  Over  the  wire  the 
two  men  exchanged  greetings.  The  painter  gave  a  brief 
relation  of  his  escape.  Then  he  asked  d'Ornano  his 
opinion  of  the  operations  in  progress.  For  two  minutes 
the  Corsican  talked  without  interruption.  Gisele  listened 
attentively,  sometimes  catching  a  few  words,  occasionally 
enlightened  by  an  exclamation  from  the  painter.  Suddenly 
she  heard  a  click. 

"Hello,"  shouted  Leyton.  "Hello,  central!"  Then  a 
pause.  "Central,  why  do  you  cut  me  off?  What's  the 
matter,  anyway  ?   Wake  up,  central.     Are  you  sleeping  ?  " 

A  faint  shivering  voice  came  from  the  receiver. 

"Sorry.  The  wire  is  cut.  Nothing  doing  in  that  part 
of  the  oasis." 

Gisele  became  as  white  as  her  apron. 

"He  has  blown  up  the  fort!"  she  screamed.  "I  know 
he  is  the  man  to  do  it." 

Leyton's  reply  was  prompt  and  to  the  point. 

"Damn  it;  he  is  not  the  man  to  do  it  while  talking  to 
me  by  telephone.  .  .  .  It's  nothing  of  the  kind.  The  wire 
is  cut;  that's  all.  He  told  me  himself  that  Abd-er- 
Rhaman's  troops  were  sweeping  everything  before  them." 

"And  what  did  he  say  would  become  of  him?" 

"  I  guess  he  thinks  little  about  it  and  cares  a  good  deal 


"  UNDER  THE    SHADOW  OF  SWORDS "  287 

less.  He  says  his  fort  can't  be  stormed.  As  he  has  food 
for  three  weeks,  you  can  draw  your  conclusions.  I  wish 
you  and  I  were  as  well  off." 

He  had  scarcely  spoken  when  the  clatter  of  galloping 
artillery  made  the  panes  tinkle.  Both  of  them  ran  to  the 
window.  The  battery  Leyton  had  an  hour  before  seen  at 
work  from  the  minaret  of  the  mosque  crossed  the  piazza 
and  turned  to  the  right.  An  accident  occurred  as  the  last 
caisson  came  to  the  corner.  The  head  leader  turned  too 
short.  In  vain  did  the  sergeant  utter  a  shout  of  warning 
and  bear  with  all  his  weight  on  the  horses  of  the  clumsy 
rider.  The  middle  and  back  leaders  were  unable  to  resist 
the  impulse.  The  front  wheel  struck  the  wall  and  the 
carriage  upset  completely,  spilling  the  gunners.  Fortu- 
nately, the  caisson  proper  remained  standing,  and  an 
explosion  was  avoided.  But  two  out  of  three  gunners 
were  left  unconscious  on  the  road.  As  the  sergeant, 
fearing  to  leave  his  caisson  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy,  was 
unwilling  to  wait,  it  fell  to  the  third  man  to  take  his  com- 
panions to  the  hospital. 

Leaving  Gisele,  Leyton  ran  across  the  sick-room,  tum- 
bled down-stairs  and  hurried  to  the  assistance  of  the 
victims.  One  had  apparently  suffered  a  fracture  of  the 
skull,  the  second  complained  of  a  broken  arm.  The 
American  came  back  carrying  the  first.  As  he  passed  the 
threshold,  infantry  invaded  the  piazza.  They  were  the 
men  he  had  seen  at  work  earlier  in  the  morning.  In  the 
rear,  the  Joyeux  who  covered  the  retreat  were  still  shooting. 
A  party  of  perhaps  a  hundred  men  were  carrying  wounded 
comrades.  Captain  Maugis,  with  whom  Leyton  had  had 
dealings  of  so  unpleasant  a  nature  in  the  mosque,  was  in 


288        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

charge.  He  ordered  the  wounded  lined  against  the  wall, 
and  came  to  Ley  ton  with  extended  hand. 

"You  are  the  very  man  I  wanted  to  see,"  he  shouted. 
"It's  all  off,  and  Si-Hamza  is  on  our  heels.  Fortunately 
for  the  wounded,  I  find  you  here.  See  what  you  can  do 
for  the  Red  Cross,  Mr.  Leyton.  We  can  no  longer  pro- 
tect it." 

He  hurried  after  his  men.  There  were  five  minutes  of 
heavy  silence.  Save  for  a  few  pigeons,  which  fluttered 
down  from  the  palm  trees,  the  piazza  was  deserted. 
Leyton  heard  steps  behind  him.  Turning,  he  saw  Gisele 
on  the  stairway.  Behind  her  came  the  old  surgeon  who 
had  so  rudely  berated  him.  With  his  assistants  he  came 
down  to  defend  his  hospital. 

Two  men  relieved  Leyton  of  his  charge.  They  waited. 
Nobody  came.  This  unaccountable  silence  was  even 
more  impressive  than  the  clamor  of  battle.  The  American 
infered  that  street  fighting  in  Zenaga  had  taught  the  Ouled- 
Sidi-Sheiks  a  lesson  in  prudence,  and  that  they  were 
afraid  to  enter  the  ksar.  At  last  a  horseman  came  up  at  a 
gallop,  stopped  his  horse  in  full  career  and  made  a  rapid 
survey  of  the  surroundings.  He  went  back  and  returned 
two  minutes  later.  This  time  he  was  followed  by  a  troop. 
Among  them,  Leyton  recognized  Si-Hamza  and  Mokrani. 

"You  can  attend  to  the  wounded,"  he  said,  turning  to 
the  surgeon.     "There  will  be  no  murder  or  plundering." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  BASTION  OF  THE  WAD-EL-HALUF 

To  avoid  being  hit,  the  sergeant  covered  at  top  speed 
the  area  swept  by  the  enemy's  fire.  He  entered  the  man- 
hole crawfish  fashion  and  let  himself  slide  into  the  case- 
mate. Forty  men  were  housed  in  this  rat-hole  that  was 
less  than  six  feet  high  and  not  thirty  feet  in  length,  and 
where  so  little  light  penetrated  that  lanterns  were  burning 
at  noon.  Loaded  with  the  pungency  of  antiseptics,  oil  and 
leather,  the  atmosphere  was  so  hot  and  stifling  that  all 
the  inmates  were  lying  down,  stripped  to  the  waist,  water- 
bottle  in  the  right  hand,  in  a  condition  of  perspiring  dis- 
comfort akin  to  the  coma  of  malarial  fever.  Seeing  the 
sergeant  enter  with  the  day's  report,  a  man  drawled : 

"Here  comes  the  Tambour  with  the  ' Decision/  Who  is 
dead  again?" 

"A  good  many  more  than  the  report  will  show,"  came 
the  answer  from  the  opposite  corner  of  the  casemate. 
"O'Hara  need  not  have  taken  the  trouble  of  picking  up 
this  one  here  under  fire  yesterday.     He's  cold  now." 

"Cold?" 

"Yes;  and  I'll  bet  it's  the  first  time  in  three  weeks  the 

poor  devil  feels  anyways  like  comfortable.     He's  been  too 

hot;  that's  what's  the  matter." 

"And  you  not  three  feet  from  him!"  came  the  indignant 

289 


290        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

reply.  "Wake  up,  O'Hara!  Your  marsouin  is  dead! 
.  .  .  Get  the  lantern,  you  blasted  fool!  Couldn't  you 
have  called  somebody?" 

"1  could,  maybe,"  the  other  answered  sheepishly.  "But 
I  came  down  from  sentry  duty  at  eight  o'clock  this 
morning." 

By  this  time  O'Hara  and  his  mates — Larry,  Thomlinson, 
Kelly  and  Von  Bomsen — were  silently  gazing  at  the  dead 
boy,  a  nineteen-year-old  Parisian  with  less  than  five 
months'  service  in  a  regiment  of  Colonial  Infantry. 
O'Hara  broke  the  sorrowful  silence. 

"Mark  him  down,  Sergeant.  We  will  bury  him  after 
the  kief." 

He  covered  the  corpse  with  a  watch  coat  and  turned  to 
hear  the  reading  of  the  report.  No  guard  duty  for  him  to- 
day. Intently,  he  listened  to  the  roll  of  casualties.  When 
he  was  sure  that  no  bosom  friend  was  on  it,  he  became 
listless.  But  he  grumbled  as  soon  as  he  learned  that  a 
new  trench  had  to  be  opened  by  the  company.  Making 
the  dirt  fly  with  a  sun  like  this  was  no  Christian  occupation; 
and  he  could  not  see  why  the  Moslem  prisoners  were  not 
compelled  to  do  the  navvy  work.  Then  came  the  reading 
of  the  "  ordre  du  jour." 

"  In  consideration  of  his  behavior  under  fire  while  rescuing 
wounded  comrades,  private  O'Hara  is  made  a  corporal  ..." 

The  rest  he  did  not  hear.  The  five  members  of  the 
Anglo-Saxon  Club — on  account  of  the  peculiar  nature  of 
his  friendship  for  Thomlinson,  the  Boer  Van  Bomsen 
occupied  in  the  quintet  the  position  of  an  adopted  son — 
were  shaking  him  by  the  hand.     Kelly,  ex-delivery  boy  in 


THE   BASTION  OF  THE   WAD-EL-HALUF  291 

Baltimore,  ex-beachcomber  in  North  Africa,  as  a  result  of 
shanghaing,  was  first  in  vouchsafing  the  opinion  that  the 
two  red  stripes  ought  to  be  sewed  on  O'Hara's  coat.  He 
instantly  began  rummaging  through  the  knapsacks  for  the 
appropriate  piece  of  madder-colored  bunting.  But  the 
search  was  fruitless  until  he  happened  to  think  of  the  red 
ordnance  belt  worn  by  the  dead  soldier. 

"Sure,  he  won't  mind,"  he  muttered  in  answer  to  the 
protest  of  his  conscience.  "If  we  are  able  to  bury  him 
whole,  it  is  to  O'Hara  he  owes  it,  anyway.  And  after  I 
have  taken  a  piece  two  inches  wide,  there  will  be  enough  of 
the  stuff  left  to  shroud  him  in." 

Within  ten  minutes  Private  O'Hara,  shirtless,  but 
perspiring  freely  under  his  coat,  had  evolved  into  a  corporal 
as  naturally  as  a  caterpillar  into  a  butterfly.  His  eyes 
glued  on  his  sleeve,  he  was  following  the  plying  of  the 
needle,  when  he  heard  Weinshwurtz  exclaim  with  an 
enormous  sigh: 

"  Ach!    There  will  be  no  wash  down  over  this  striping." 

His  dejection  was  so  genuine  that  everybody  roared. 
De  Plassieux  exclaimed  with  evident  bad  temper: 

"Barely  enough  water  to  drink,  and  the  little  there  is  is 
all  lime.  You  bet  O'Hara  will  be  licking  a  dead  man's 
boots,  and  three  feet  of  ground  besides,  before  he  can  set 
up  the  drinks." 

But  the  joke  was  little  relished  by  the  Irishman. 

"You're  not  meaning  to  cast  a  slur  on  these  new  stripes, 
are  you?"  he  inquired.  "Then  just  you  smack  your 
tongue;  for  I'll  find  the  drinks  yet.     Give  me  my  shirt!" 

O'Hara  had  declared  that  he  would  find  the  drinks; 
then,  somewhere,  drinks  must  exist.    The  source  of  the 


292        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

supply  being  totally  unknown,  curiosity  had  far  more  to  do 
with  the  interest  that  suddenly  developed  than  the  expecta- 
tion of  an  immediate  throat-wetting.  De  Plassieux 
brought  the  garment  half-apologetically.  O'Hara  glared 
at  his  four  satellites. 

"Put  on  your  shirts!"  he  shouted.  Then  evidently 
fearing  that  what  he  meant  for  an  invitation  might  be 
mistaken  for  a  command — his  first  order  to  subordinates — 
he  added  more  softly  "  — and  come  with  me." 

And  deaf  to  all  requests  for  explanations,  he  attended 
to  his  own  toilet.  It  took  the  five  men  three  minutes  to 
make  ready.  The  Irishman  was  first  to  reach  the  man- 
hole.    He  stood  erect  in  the  sun. 

"Well,  what's  happened!"  he  exclaimed.  "Seems  as  if 
these  curs  down  there  is  no  longer  shooting.     What's  up  ?  " 

His  hand  over  his  eyes,  he  surveyed  the  landscape. 
Around  him  was  the  chaos  and  desolation  incident  to  an 
obstinate  defence.  A  two  weeks'  bombardment  had  left 
little  standing  in  the  bastion  that  overlooked  the  Wad-el- 
Haluf .  Explosives  had  knocked  down  the  works,  shrapnel 
had  battered  machine-guns  and  field-pieces.  Unexploded 
shells  lay  half  buried  in  the  earth  that  covered  the  case- 
mates. The  sand-bags  used  for  the  protection  of  gunners 
and  riflemen  had  been  rent  by  fragments  of  shell  and 
riddled  with  shot.  Freshly  chipped  stone  littered  the 
ground.  Splinters  of  steel  and  cast-iron,  crushed  brass 
fuses,  flattened  lead  and  nickel-coated  bullets  covered  the 
works.  Here  and  there  were  gun  wheels  and  broken 
rifles.  There  were  brown  spots  that  had  been  blood. 
Coats  and  kepis  lay  where  nobody  had  cared  to  venture  to 
pick  them  up.     The  men  on  duty  availed  themselves  of 


THE   BASTION  OF  THE   WAD-EL-HALUF  293 

the  respite  to  carry  the  wounded  to  safety.  O'Hara  saw 
one  of  them,  without  as  much  as  a  quiver,  wipe  his  hands 
and  break,  between  thumb  and  forefinger,  a  piece  from  the 
hardtack  another  man  was  eating.  Their  rifles  on  their 
knees,  these  men — they  belonged  to  the  company  of 
Colonial  Infantry — were  sitting  on  sand-bags.  Not  an 
officer  was  in  sight. 

"What's  the  matter?"  inquired  O'Hara  of  the  trooper 
who  was  chewing. 

"  Don't  know,"  came  the  dry  reply.  "  Ask  the  man  over 
there.  And  tell  him  to  bring  me  some  shade  and  a  caf£- 
cognac." 

Turning  at  the  irreverent  gesture,  O'Hara  saw  d'Ornano 
engaged  in  conversation  with  Captain  Jarchin.  Both  men 
were  holding  spy-glasses.  Five  feet  behind,  Capo  di 
Borgo  seemed  to  be  awaiting  orders.  A  dozen  officers  had 
gathered  in  the  immediate  vicinity. 

When,  at  a  word  from  d'Ornano,  he  saw  them  depart 
and  join  their  posts,  the  Irishman  felt  that  his  opportunity 
had  come  to  march  his  four  friends  towards  the  bottles, 
goal  of  his  expedition.  The  Corsican  saw  them  approach, 
stop  and  salute  without  betraying  by  a  sign  that  he  was 
ready  for  an  audience.  Instead,  he  called  Capo  di  Borgo 
to  give  him  instructions.  Patiently  O'Hara  waited  a 
quarter  of  an  hour. 

He  now  understood  why  the  firing  had  ceased.  On  the 
slope  leading  to  the  oasis  an  officer  with  a  flag  of  truce  had 
appeared.  He  was  on  foot,  accompanied  by  four  askharis 
who  wore  the  uniform  of  Abd-er-Rhaman's  regulars.  His 
flag-bearer  was  a  khaid  on  horseback. 

The  Irishman  thought  it  strange  that  the  messenger, 


294       IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

although  he  wore  the  red  fez,  should  be  dressed  as  a 
European  officer.  But  the  necessity  of  preserving  correct 
military  position  in  the  presence  of  superiors  prevented 
him  from  exchanging  remarks  with  his  friends.  At  this 
juncture  d'Ornano's  voice  startled  him. 

"Whatisit,0'Hara?" 

The  hand  of  the  Irishman  went  to  his  kepi.  The 
presence  of  a  Captain  belonging  to  another  arm  of  the 
service  deprived  him  of  some  of  his  self-reliance;  yet  he 
managed  to  utter  his  request  in  reasonable  French. 

"Colonel,  it's  for  a  favor.  Me  and  my  friends.  .  .  . 
You  will  remember  the  time  when  you  was  sunstruck  and 
I  made  you  a  loan  of  my  water-bottle,  sir  ?  ...  If  I  say  it, 
it  is  because  I  was  thirsty  myself  and  I  knew  there  was  a 
simoom  coming.     Now  ..." 

"I  remember.  Go  ahead!"  interrupted  d'Ornano,  who 
saw  that  his  new  corporal  found  it  hard  to  recall  past 
services.     "Never  mind  Captain  Jarchin." 

"I  don't  mind  him,  sir.  I'd  never  have  reminded  you 
without  good  reason.  You're  welcome!  But  to-day  it's 
myself  that's  in  trouble.  I  know  I  must  wear  these  stripes 
with  honor  or  be  food  for  the  buzzards.  De  Plassieux  tells 
me  this  morning — I  take  my  friends  here  to  testify — 
'O'Hara  will  be  licking  a  dead  man's  boots,'  sez  he,  'ere 
he  can  get  the  stuff  to  set  up  the  drinks.'" 

He  waited.  Jarchin  and  Capo  di  Borgo  were  smiling. 
D'Ornano  alone  kept  a  straight  face.     He  inquired  soberly : 

"How  many  men  are  there  in  your  casemate ?" 

"Forty." 

"  And  you  expect  me  to  find  drinks  for  forty  people!  .  ,\. 
'The  fairest  woman  in  the  world  can't  give  more  than  she 


THE    BASTION   OF  THE    WAD-EL-HALUF  295 

has.'  I  have  a  bottle  of  'Curacao'  and  another  of  'Bene- 
dictine.' Will  that  do  you  ?  If  you  look  sharp,  everybody 
can  have  a  mouthful." 

O'Hara  saluted.  His  hopes  had  risen  no  higher  than 
everyday  tafia. 

"I  happen  to  want  four  men  just  now,"  d'Ornano  went 
on.  "You  will  follow  Lieutenant  di  Borgo  outside  the 
trenches.  Go  to  your  casemate  and  get  your  things. 
Van  Bomsen  will  take  charge  of  the  bottles  until  the  others 
come  back." 

O'Hara  faced  about,  ordered  Van  Bomsen  to  leave  the 
ranks  and  commanded:  "Garde  a  vous!  .  .  .  Par  le 
flanc  .  .  .  droit!  .  .  .  Pas  gymnastique  en  avant.  .  .  . 
Marchel" 

They  reached  the  casemate  running.  Hurriedly  the 
new  Corporal  inspected  accoutrements  and  rifles.  Larry, 
free  from  the  cares  and  responsibilities  belonging  to  rank, 
imparted  the  cheerful  news.  When  d'Ornano  again 
caught  sight  of  the  four  men,  they  were  ready  for  parade. 
From  the  casemate  came  a  chorus: 

Pere  Braban9on,  son,  son, 

Payez  vous  la  goutte  ?   Oui,  oui. 

Aux  sous-officiers  de  la  gar,  de  la  gar, 

Aux  sous-officiers  de  la  garnison. 
C'est  la  rein'  Pomare* 
Qui  va  si  court  v£tue  .  .  .  etc.  .  .  . 

The  sequel  went  on  to  relate  the  adventures  of  various 
rulers  and  to  divulge  the  extraordinary  relation  that  may 
exist  between  a  pipe-stem  and  the  summer  apparel  of  a 
Tahitian  queen.  Capo  di  Borgo  had  taken  the  four  men 
in  hand.     At  the  gate  they  met  the  horseman  who  was  to 


296        IN   THE    WAKE   OF   THE    GREEN   BANNER 

act  as  flag-bearer.  He  was  the  quartermaster-sergeant 
of  spahis  Leyton  had  watched  so  long  from  his  post  of 
observation  on  the  day  of  the  storming. 

Abd-er-Rhaman's  envoy  was  waiting  four  hundred  feet 
lower  down  the  slope,  in  full  view.  Held  by  a  khaid  in 
scarlet  coat,  his  flag  of  truce  was  flapping  on  a  background 
of  cerulean  blue — the  palm  trees  of  the  oasis.  The  rest 
was  a  cobalt  sky  and  yellow  ground  rent  by  trenches.  Not 
a  tuft  of  grass.  The  defenders  were  lying  low  in  the 
ditches,  seeking  shade  behind  their  knapsacks. 

The  six  men  reached  the  outposts  and  gingerly  sur- 
mounted the  barbed-wire  fences,  the  spahi  especially  ex- 
periencing trouble  with  his  fretful  animal.  A  little  further 
on  lay  the  corpses  of  Saharans  killed  so  close  to  the  trenches 
that  their  comrades  had  been  unable  to  bring  them  in  under 
fire.  They  belonged  to  Bou-Amers  harka;  and  d'Ornano 
had  once  before  pitilessly  refused  to  conclude  an  armistice 
that  would  profit  only  his  foe.  To-day,  Capo  di  Borgo 
had  orders  to  reject  a  similar  proposal.  If  the  one-eyed 
Maddhi  wanted  to  bury  his  dead,  let  him  begin  by  setting 
Sidi-Malik  at  liberty. 

It  soon  became  evident  that  Abd-er-Rhaman  had  more 
important  business  to  transact  than  the  conclusion  of  a 
few  hours'  armistice.  His  envoy  was  no  smaller  a  person- 
age than  Count  Palsim  von  Brokow,  Master  of  the  Artillery 
and  of  the  Engineers. 

Capo  di  Borgo  noticed  that  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away 
Moslem  cavalry  were  waiting  in  good  order.  He  questioned 
the  spahi  and  was  told  that  they  were  Ouled-Sidi-Sheiks. 
No  doubt  Si-Hamza  and  the  other  shorja  of  his  family  had 
come  to  watch  the  proceedings,  perhaps  with  the  secret 


THE   BASTION  OF  THE   WAD-ELrHALUF  297 

intent  of  holding  Bou-Amel  in  check.  The  six  men  con- 
tinued to  advance  until  no  more  than  fifty  feet  separated 
them  from  the  opposing  party.  The  two  envoys  saluted 
each  other. 

Di  Borgo  gave  his  opponent  an  admiring  glance.  Ter- 
ribly correct  in  his  uniform,  tall  and  blond,  with  the  light 
of  cold  intellectuality  in  his  eyes,  Palsim  von  Brokow  was 
in  truth  the  achieved  type  of  the  German  staff  officer. 
The  famous  "salt  of  the  earth"  came  back  to  the  Corsican's 
memory.  In  all  fairness,  he  was  bound  to  concede  that 
Kaiser  Wilhelm's  epithet  was  not  so  absurd  when  applied 
to  a  soldier  of  this  stamp.  It  was  a  pleasure  to  meet  such 
a  finished  representative  of  scientific  and  courteous  warfare 
in  a  place  like  Figuig  where  Si-Hamza  and  the  Sultan 
seemed  alone  to  possess  ethical  standards. 

The  two  officers  met.  Since  he  had  been  first  on  the 
ground,  it  was  incumbent  upon  the  German  to  open 
negotiations.  Resolved  not  to  take  the  initiative,  di 
Borgo  waited  for  him  to  make  the  necessary  speech. 

"I  am  directed  by  his  Sherifian  Highness  to  carry  terms 
of  surrender  to  Commandant  d'Ornano,"  Palsim  von 
Brokow  began  with  a  slow  decision  that  was  almost  dis- 
dainful in  its  dryness.  "I  am,  therefore,  compelled  to 
request  you  to  lead  me  to  him." 

"Commandant  d'Ornano  has  foreseen  that  such  might 
be  the  purpose  of  your  mission,"  came  the  equally  curt 
reply.  "He  charges  me  to  remind  you  of  a  military 
axiom:  'A  place  no  longer  adverse  to  the  debating  of 
terms  is  half  taken.'  As  the  Wad-el-Haluf  can  be  held, 
he  sees  no  necessity  for  entertaining  propositions  of  any 
kind." 


298        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

"Does  he  fear  that  I  may  obtain  valuable  information 
concerning  the  state  of  the  defence  and  the  layout  of  the 
trenches?"  the  German  resumed.  "We  already  possess 
the  necessary  data;  and,  moreover,  I  have  no  objection  to 
the  blindfold.  Abd-er-Rhaman  is  well  aware  that  ever 
since  the  day  you  exploded  your  mines  on  the  side  of  the 
canyon  the  cisterns  of  the  bastion  have  been  leaking. 
The  Sultan  is  open  to  terms,  to-day.  In  a  week  it  will  be 
unconditional  surrender;  and  your  commander  will  have 
to  reckon  with  the  long-lived  hatreds  of  Bou-Amel." 

"Are  you  sure  that  you  do  not  yield  to  a  tendency  to  see 
things  through  the  magnifying-glass  of  your  own  hopes?' 
di  Borgo  inquired  in  his  turn.  "  We  are  inclined  to  believe 
that  Abd-er-Rhaman  will,  in  a  week,  be  across  the  border, 
pursued  by  the  sixty  thousand  French  troops  that  are  now 
concentrating  around  Mascara,  Sidi-bel-Abbes  and  Tlem- 
cen.  If  we  cannot  do  better,  we  will  at  least  keep  him  here 
until  the  French  General  Staff  is  ready  for  the  offensive. 
For  the  rest,  I  can  only  remind  you  of  the  advice  a  knight 
of  Tinteniac  gave  to  a  wounded  friend  suffering  sore  thirst. 
No  doubt,  you  know  it.  It  happened  while  a  party  of  thirty 
Bretons  were  breaking  the  heads  of  thirty  Englishmen." 

"I  confess  that  I  am  unacquainted  with  the  anecdotical 
side  of  Breton  history,"  the  German  replied,  not  without 
irony. 

"  No  matter.  I  would  not  withhold,  even  from  an  enemy, 
what  I  consider  useful  knowledge.  The  advice  was: 
'Drink  thy  blood,  Baumanoir.  We  will  be  through  with 
them  presently.'     It  dates  back  to  1352.     Good-day,  sir." 

And  the  Corsican,  extremely  proud  of  his  effect,  saluted 
rigidly  and  turned  on  his  heel.     He  had  not  gone  three 


THE   BASTION  OF  THE   WAD-EL-HALUF         299 

steps  when  he  heard  a  shot.  A  bullet  whistled  dangerously 
close.  A  second  report  came  as  the  echo  of  the  first,  and 
he  saw  his  flag-bearer  in  the  dust,  with  his  horse  shot  under 
him. 

The  sequel  came  so  quickly  that  he  was  not  granted  a 
chance  to  interfere.  The  four  askharis  of  the  German  had 
taken  to  their  heels,  two  of  them  throwing  away  their  rifles. 
The  khaid  in  scarlet  seemed  to  hesitate.  Then  he  fol- 
lowed at  a  gallop. 

Kelly  and  Thomlinson  were  firing  in  the  direction  of 
Bou-Amers  camp.  Apparently  as  surprised  as  his  ad- 
versary, Palsim  von  Brokow  had  stopped.  He  felt 
O'Hara's  fingers  on  his  throat  at  the  very  moment  he  saw 
one  of  his  askharis  topple  over. 

Poor  Larry  had  again  made  a  mistake.  But  Capo  di 
Borgo  had  no  time  to  listen  to  the  indignant  protests  of 
the  German  officer.  While  Kelly  explained  that  the  ask- 
haris were  guiltless  and  that  the  violators  of  the  truce 
belonged  to  Bou-Amers  harka,  other  actors  had  come  on 
the  stage.  The  first  was  Si-Hamza.  His  leather  coorbash 
was  now  falling  with  pitiless  regularity  on  the  face  and 
shoulders  of  the  three  fleeing  askharis  and  the  khaid  in 
scarlet.  The  shorfa  of  his  family  were  galloping  at  top 
speed  in  the  direction  of  Bou-AmeFs  camp.  At  this 
juncture  di  Borgo  saw  the  khaid  turn  back  waving  his  flag. 
Si-Hamza  followed  him. 

Pointing  out  that  neither  he  nor  the  Sultan  was  respon- 
sible for  the  unfortunate  occurrence,  von  Brokow  renewed 
his  protest.  The  threat  implied  in  his  tone  provoked  the 
Corsican,  who  very  dryly  replied  that,  at  any  rate,  the 
French  could  not  be  accused  of  having  begun  hostilities 


300        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

and  that  until  excuses  were  offered  and  reparation  made, 
the  German  might  consider  himself  a  prisoner. 

However,  he  ordered  O'Hara  to  relax  his  hold.  Si- 
Hamza  had,  by  this  time,  left  the  khaid  at  the  place  he 
formerly  occupied.  He  pushed  his  stallion  towards  the 
party  and  jumped  to  the  ground. 

"Before  I  charge  you  to  transmit  to  Commandant 
d'Ornano  the  apologies  of  the  Sultan  and  my  own,  I  be- 
seech your  flag-bearer  to  accept  the  gift  of  my  horse  as  a 
compensation  for  the  loss  he  has  suffered,"  he  said. 
"The  responsibility  for  this  unwarranted  outrage  rests 
altogether  with  troops  that  have  hereto  escaped  the  bonds 
of  discipline.  This  is  only  an  explanation.  I  am  aware 
that  it  cannot  supply  the  place  of  an  excuse.  The  culprits 
will  be  delivered  into  your  hands,  even  if  I  have  to  set  in 
motion  the  whole  force  of  the  Ouled-Sidi-Sheiks." 

"I  must  insist  on  capital  punishment  for  the  offenders 
and  that  the  execution  be  performed  in  the  Sultan's  name," 
di  Borgo  replied.  "  It  must  be  made  plain  that  it  is  an  act 
of  justice  and  not  mere  revengeful  feeling  on  our  part.  As 
regards  your  envoy,  you  are,  no  doubt,  aware  that  I  may 
continue  his  arrest  and  still  remain  within  the  strict  limits 
of  the  law  of  nations.  We  have  been  fired  upon  and 
the  responsibility  lies  solely  on  your  commander-in-chief. 
Nothing  compels  Abd-er-Rhaman  to  marsLall  against  us 
Saharan  raiders  whose  sole  value  seems  to  lie  in  their 
capacity  for  inflicting  mutilation  on  dead  soldiers." 

Si-Hamza  made  a  gesture  that  could  be  construed  as  a 
willingness  on  his  part  to  waive  the  question  of  right. 

"True  enough,"  he  replied.  "Still  the  generosity  of  the 
Sultan  is  well  known.     As  I  offer  in  his  name  all  the  repara- 


THE   BASTION  OF  THE   WAD-EL-HALUF  301 

tion  the  gravity  of  the  occurrence  warrants,  too  much 
diffidence  on  the  part  of  a  foe  will  only  create  the  impression 
that,  by  refusing  his  freedom  to  our  master  of  the  artillery, 
you  fear  that  he  may  prove  too  useful/ ' 

At  this  broadside  the  Corsican  reddened.  He  instantly 
turned  towards  Palsim  von  Brokow. 

"When  you  return  home  to  watch  over  your  Moselle 
vineyards,  I  trust  you  will  find  me  in  the  immediate 
vicinity  ready  to  renew  so  pleasurable  an  acquaintance," 
he  said.  "You  may  go.  Other  dealings  interest  only  Si- 
Hamza  and  myself. 

The  relatives  of  the  chieftain  were  approaching.  They 
were  pushing  forward  two  poor  devils,  pale  as  ashes, 
totally  naked  beneath  the  shamirah  and  the  akhnif.  Si- 
Hamza  ordered  one  of  the  askharis  to  go  and  request 
Mokrani  to  send  a  chaouch. 

Their  hands  tied  behind  their  backs,  the  two  culprits 
were  made  to  kneel.  Muttering  prayers,  they  waited  for 
the  executioner  with  the  resignation  born  of  fatalism;  for 
the  Moslem  seldom  attempts  to  elude  the  justice  of  his 
chiefs.  The  chaouch  came  to  report  to  Si-Hamza.  His 
first  care  was  to  make  the  doomed  men  bend  their  heads, 
while  he  felt  brutally  with  his  thumb  for  the  exact  spot  he 
wished  to  strike.  This  ascertained,  he  stuck  on  the  neck 
of  each  victim  a  piece  of  cigarette  paper.  Next  he  tried 
the  length  of  his  stride  and  then  sharpened  the  edge  of  his 
own  blade  with  a  yatagan.  The  two  Saharans  were  still 
praying. 

His  sleeves  drawn  up,  and  standing  so  that  he  could 
start  off  the  left  foot,  the  chaouch  waited  for  the  signal. 

As  soon  as  Si-Hamza  spoke,  he  made  two  steps  forward. 


302        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

The  keen  blade  flashed  in  the  sunlight.  A  head  flew. 
With  as  calm  a  mien  as  if  he  were  flicking  away  a  spot  of 
dust,  Si-Hamza  wiped  off  the  drop  of  blood  that  had  fallen 
on  his  feredjeh.  Two  more  steps  and  the  second  man  fell 
forward.  Leisurely  the  chaouch  wiped  his  blade  on  the 
shamirah  of  the  last  victim.  He  then  went  to  lay  the  heads 
before  the  Frenchmen. 

Kelly  and  Thomlinson  turned  green;  but  Larry  and 
O'Hara  were  unmoved.  Both  had  been  long  in  the  service 
and  were  familiar  with  ugly  sights.  Capo  di  Borgo  gave 
the  order  to  go  back. 

Firing  was  resumed  as  soon  as  they  reentered  the  fort. 
Abd-er-Rhaman's  reply  to  d'Ornano's  refusal  to  entertain 
his  proposal  of  surrender  was  not  long  in  coming.  The 
bastion  of  Beni-Ounif  was  stormed  in  the  afternoon.  As 
Djebel  Zenaga  and  Beni-Ounif,  both  built  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  canyon,  were  mutually  dependent,  the  fall  of 
one  was  bound  to  involve  the  surrender  of  the  other  within 
a  very  short  time.  Captured  guns  had  increased  the 
strength  of  the  Moslem  artillery.  Trenches  had  been 
pushed  actively.  It  was,  indeed,  the  conviction  that  the 
keys  of  both  bastions  were  now  in  his  hand  that  had  led 
Abd-er-Rhaman  to  believe  that  d'Ornano  was  no  longer 
in  a  position  to  reject  the  terms  of  the  victor.  When 
Palsim  von  Brokow  came  to  report  the  fruitless  result  of 
the  parley,  he  instantly  issued  the  order  to  storm  Beni- 
Ounif  regardless  of  the  cost. 

The  fierce  cannonading  that  now  began  lasted  until  four 
o'clock.  D'Ornano's  surprise  was  great  when,  immediate- 
ly afterwards,  it  developed  that  the  Sultan,  who  to  reach 
his  goal  had  squandered  the  lives  of  hundreds  of  his  own 


THE    BASTION   OF   THE   WAD-EL-HALUF  303 

men,  was  actually  allowing  the  remnant  of  Beni-Ounif's 
garrison  to  make  good  its  retreat  by  way  of  the  Wad-el- 
Haluf.  There  could  be  but  one  explanation;  the  splendid 
behavior  of  these  Turcos,  and  the  fact  that  they  were 
Moslem  troops,  had  earned  them  at  the  last  minute  the 
clemency  of  a  generous  victor.  He  persisted  in  this  illusion 
until  it  became  evident  that  they  intended  to  take  shelter 
in  his  own  fort. 

He  frowned  and  for  the  next  few  minutes  did  not  answer 
a  word  to  the  questions  put  to  him  by  his  officers.  At 
length,  as  Jarchin  ventured  to  ask  him  whether  he  intended 
to  receive  these  waifs,  he  exploded: 

"Have  the  kindness  to  attend  to  your  company,  Captain 
Jarchin.     I  have  not  summoned  a  council  of  war." 

The  Turcos  had  now  reached  the  outposts,  and  men  in 
the  trenches  were  cheering.  D'Ornano  left  the  fort.  As 
soon  as  he  was  within  speaking  distance  of  the  advancing 
troop,  he  ordered  a  halt. 

"Where  is  your  captain?"  he  inquired. 

No  answer.  The  Captain  had  been  killed.  The  Lieu- 
tenant in  command  left  his  station  and  came  forward. 
Before  he  could  open  his  mouth,  d'Ornano  let  loose  on  him 
the  pent-up  flood  of  his  ill-humor. 

"Do  you  take  the  Wad-el-Haluf  for  a  sanatorium  ?" 

The  officer  was  too  astounded  for  speech.  D'Ornano 
went  on: 

"Understand  this.  I  have  twice  as  many  men  as  I 
need,  three  days'  food  and  no  water.  If  you  had  come  here, 
having  compelled  Abd-er-Rhaman  to  let  you  go,  I  would 
have  received  you  and  given  you  a  chance  to  get  killed  to 
some  purpose.     As  it  is,  I  have  no  use  for  Abd-er-Rhaman's 


304       IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

gifts,  especially  when  they  consist  of  mouths  to  feed.  If  I 
take  you,  I  am  bound  to  surrender  to-morrow  or  else  turn 
my  own  men  out." 

The  Lieutenant  saluted. 

"I  will  go  back  and  surrender,"  he  said.  "I  thought  I 
might  be  of  some  use  to  you  in  the  event  of  Abd-er-Rhaman 
deciding  to  storm  the  Wad-el-Haluf." 

D'Ornano  softened  sensibly. 

"Then  you  should  have  attempted  to  reach  Djebel 
Zenaga,"  he  said.  "I  don't  think  myself  that  Abd-er- 
Rhaman  would  have  allowed  it,  but  you  might  have  tried. 
As  they  are  in  pressing  need  of  help,  they  would  have 
welcomed  you  with  open  arms.  You  understand  the 
Sultan's  scheme,  don't  you?  He  can  storm  Djebel 
Zenaga;  indeed,  I  have  every  reason  to  believe  that  he  will 
do  it  to-night  or  to-morrow  morning.  But  he  knows  that 
if  he  attempts  to  rush  matters  on  this  side,  he  will  leave 
half  of  his  beloved  infantry  on  the  slope.  Such  a  success 
is  too  dearly  bought.     He  will  starve  us  out." 

The  Lieutenant  sighed  and  turned  to  go.  D'Ornano's 
glance  rested  upon  him  the  space  of  ten  seconds.  Then  he 
called : 

"Wait  a  minute,  Lieutenant!  I  don't  know  but  what  I 
might.  .  .  .  Wait  until  I  think  it  over." 

He  began  pacing  the  ground.  His  cogitation  lasted 
some  time.  He  broke  the  silence  once  only  to  ask  the  Lieu- 
tenant for  a  cigarette. 

"  March  your  troops  in,"  he  said  at  length.  "  But  a  meal 
is  all  you  can  expect  from  me.  I  warn  you  that  I  am  going 
to  use  you  to  repay  Abd-er-Rhaman  for  his  kindness.  All 
troops  not  needed  for  the  defence  of  the  bastion  will  have 


THE   BASTION  OF  THE   WAD-EL-HALUF  305 

to  find  their  subsistence  in  Bou-Amel's  camp.  Let  me 
have  your  bugler." 

He  instructed  the  native  to  run  into  the  fort  and  call  all 
officers  now  off  duty  to  the  "Critique."  He  then  re- 
entered the  bastion  behind  the  Turcos.  The  first  man  he 
met  was  Jarchin. 

"I  trust  you  will  forgive  me  the  impatient  words  that 
escaped  me  in  a  moment  of  perplexity,"  he  apologized. 
"Kindly  tell  the  officers  that  there  will  be  a  council  of  war." 

He  entered  the  casemate  known  as  "Headquarters" 
ever  since  the  building  that  had  originally  borne  the  name 
had  fallen  into  heaps  under  the  persistent  cannonading  of 
Palsim  von  Brokow's  Krupp  guns.  He  directed  the 
sergeants  intrusted  with  all  clerical  work  relating  to  muni- 
tions and  supplies  to  bring  some  order  out  of  the  general 
confusion  and  provide  seats.  Canteen  boxes  would  very 
well  answer  the  purpose.  When  he  was  satisfied  with  the 
arrangements  he  commanded  an  orderly  to  usher  in  the 
officers  he  had  sent  for. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  SORTIE 

D'Ornano  had  not  called  a  council  of  war  because  of 
uncertainty  as  to  the  best  course  of  action  or  through  lack  of 
resolution.  He  had  decided  on  his  tactics  and  he  had  no 
intention  of  allowing  a  majority  of  his  subordinates  to 
sway  him.  The  council  was  a  consultative  body  and 
nothing  more.  But  he  held  that  even  a  subaltern  acts 
more  intelligently  and  consequently  more  effectively  if  he 
has  full  knowledge  of  the  plan  of  campaign  as  a  whole. 
To-day,  it  was  also  especially  necessary  to  consider  the 
state  of  mind  of  the  troops.  The  men  were  tired.  Dysen- 
tery and  enteric  fever  were  foes  they  dreaded  far  more  than 
the  enemy  himself.  They  not  only  needed  water  and  food, 
but  also  medical  supplies.  Was  their  vitality,  moral  as 
well  as  physical,  sufficient  to  stand  the  test  of  an  additional 
and  unusually  strenuous  effort  ?  A  garrison  that  has  begun 
to  look  forward  to  capitulation  has  already  lost  morale. 
The  arrival  of  the  Turcos  could  only  increase  the  discon- 
tent of  the  steadfast  and  enhance  the  hopes  of  the  wavering. 
Still  d'Ornano  knew  that  the  idea  of  a  sortie  proves  in- 
variably popular  with  men  who  have  been  kept  long  on 
the  defensive.  The  purpose  of  the  present  gathering  was 
therefore  to  discuss  how  confidence  might  best  be  restored 
and  enthusiasm  kept  at  the  boiling  point  until  it  was 

possible  to  act. 

306 


THE   SORTIE  307 

He  began  by  recalling  the  main  events  of  the  defence. 
No  sacrifice  had  been  useless,  since  Figuig  had  kept  Abd- 
er-Rhaman  in  check  a  longer  time  than  was  necessary  for 
the  French  to  land  in  Algeria  the  much-needed  metropol- 
itan troops.  He  then  proceeded  to  give  a  faithful  outline  of 
the  present  state  of  affairs.  The  straits  they  were  in  com- 
pelled the  officer  in  command  to  ask  his  fellow-officers 
to  express  their  view  of  the  situation  with  all  frankness. 
They  were  reminded  that  the  man  on  whose  shoulders  the 
responsibility  rested  could  be  served  only  by  the  untarnished 
truth. 

Captain  Jarchin  came  last.  His  higher  rank  and  longer 
experience  warranted  on  his  part  greater  freedom  and 
bluntness.  Alone,  he  dared  to  criticise.  His  conviction 
was  that  the  defence,  still  possible  an  hour  ago,  had  been 
set  at  naught  by  the  introduction  of  additional  troops. 
D'Ornano  had  been  waiting  for  this.     He  got  up. 

"Let  me  thank  Captain  Jarchin  for  having  undertaken 
to  voice  an  apprehension  which  all  of  you  must  have  con- 
ceived," he  said.  "I  have  long  been  aware  that  a  time 
would  come  when  the  lack  of  water  and  food  would  compel 
surrender.  Nobody  doubts  that  Abd-er-Rhaman,  when 
allowing  a  whole  company  of  Turcos  to  make  good  their 
retreat  on  the  bastion,  sought  only  to  hasten  the  unavoid- 
able end.  To-night,  to-morrow  morning  at  the  latest,  if 
I  am*  to  judge  from  the  rapidity  with  which  the  enemy  has 
been  pushing  the  digging  of  his  trenches,  Djebel  Zenaga 
will  share  the  fate  of  Beni-Ounif .  It  is  then  possible,  and 
even  probable,  that  the  company  of  Joyeux  garrisoning 
that  fort  will  be  allowed  to  join  us. 

"  I  do  not  propose  to  wait.     Better  than  Djebel  Zenaga, 


308        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

we  are  able  to  watch  day  by  day,  hour  by  hour,  the  progress 
of  the  Moslems.  As  this  gathering  breaks  up,  I  intend  to 
signal  to  our  friends  across  the  canyon  that  their  fate  is 
sealed.  Mistake,  will  you  say.  It  was  also  a  mistake  to 
harbor  the  Turcos  of  Beni-Ounif. 

"Like  their  fellow-soldiers,  the  Joyeux  will  benefit  by 
the  help  we  are  still  able  to  extend.  Since  Abd-er-Rhaman 
will  not  gratify  our  wishes  and  rush  his  infantry  to  the 
storming  of  the  position  we  occupy,  we  shall  do  the  attack- 
ing. The  Sultan  sought  to  increase  our  difficulties.  He 
will  have  only  provided  us  with  the  means  of  making  a 
sortie.  Humiliated  this  afternoon  by  Si-Hamza,  Bou- 
Amel  will  not  lend  his  help  against  Djebel  Zenaga.  This 
is  plainly  written  in  the  present  aspect  of  his  camp;  and, 
moreover,  we  know  only  too  well  that  he  has  set  his  heart 
solely  upon  avenging  on  us  the  death  of  thousands  of  his 
men.  I  propose,  therefore,  to  go  to  Bou-Amers  camp  for 
water  and  food.  A  sharp  attack  in  the  rear  of  the 
Moslem  infantry  will  enable  us  to  join  hands  with  Djebel- 
Zenaga  and  will  perhaps  result  in  the  capture  of  all  Abd- 
er-Rhaman's  guns.  Nothing  then  will  prevent  us  from 
putting  the  disorder  to  profit  and  rushing  the  Turcos  to  the 
looting  of  Bou-Amers  baggage.  With  the  bastion  firing 
over  our  heads,  we  are  assured  that  the  Sultan's  army, 
slow  to  put  in  motion  at  all  times,  surprised  in  the  dead  of 
the  night,  will  not  be  prepared  for  a  concerted  action  before 
we  are  ourselves  ready  to  withdraw  with  our  plunder. 
This  is  what  I  want  you  to  tell  the  men." 

Followed  precise  instructions.  All  gunners  would  re- 
main at  their  posts.  The  sick  and  convalescent — in  short, 
all  those  who  were  not  fit  to  take  part  in  a  bayonet  rush, 


THE  SORTIE  309 

were  to  be  left  to  defend  the  fort.  The  officers  were  re- 
quested to  see  personally  that  all  weapons  were  in  good  con- 
dition and  that  the  regulation  amount  of  ammunition  was 
distributed.  No  knapsacks  would  be  taken.  All  the  men 
now  on  the  sick-list  must  instantly  take  the  place  of  their 
comrades  in  the  trenches,  who  would  thus  be  given  a 
chance  to  get  some  sleep.  Just  before  the  start  all  troops 
would  be  fed  and  would  receive,  for  the  first  time  in  a 
week,  a  double  ration  of  coffee  and  a  sufficient  allowance 
of  water.  To  delude  the  enemy  the  buglers  would  be 
instructed  to  make  the  usual  calls  at  the  usual  hours. 

D'Ornano  spent  the  rest  of  the  afternoon  in  the  signal 
station  directing  the  operator.  It  took  almost  until 
nightfall  before  a  perfect  understanding  was  reached  with 
Djebel  Zenaga.  At  the  hour  when  Figuig,  under  the  sky 
of  coral  pink,  slowly  sank  in  the  wave  of  blue  that  swept 
from  the  east  over  the  dead  plains,  the  Corsican's  last 
glance  was  for  the  hospital. 

He  knew  not  what  the  coming  night  held  in  store  for 
him.  Failure  or  immortality  of  a  kind — the  sort  that 
consists  in  snatching  from  the  hands  of  the  blind  divinity, 
Luck,  the  laurels  that  will  be  worn  by  brothers  in  arms — 
left  little  chance  to  the  lover.  Seldom,  if  ever,  had  he 
entertained  any  delusions  about  the  eternity  of  human 
grief.  If  Gisele  de  Diolie  learned  to-morrow  that  the 
man  who  had  saved  her  from  falling  into  the  hands  of  the 
"  Forsaken  of  God  "  was  dead,  what  would  be  her  attitude  ? 
Ley  ton  would  receive  her  confidences,  and  it  would  hurt 
his  feelings.  He  would  be  the  witness  of  her  sorrow, 
and  this  also  would  hurt.  But,  in  the  end,  he  would  still 
be  alive  when  he,  d'Ornano,  would  have  become  a  remem- 


310        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

brance,  a  sublimated  memory,  perhaps,  with  none  of  the 
failings  he  actually  possessed;  but  something  faint,  afar 
off,  a  sun  that  would  have  shot  higher  in  the  realm  of  the 
Empyrean  and  become  a  twinkling  star.  And  what  would 
favor  the  chances  of  the  artist  all  the  more  was  precisely  the 
fact  that  he  was  a  friend,  that  he  would  experience  a 
genuine  sorrow  of  his  own,  that,  in  his  generosity,  he  would 
be  the  first  in  making  for  the  young  woman  a  d'Ornano 
so  much  larger  than  natural  size  that  Gisele  would  soon  be 
awed  by  the  proportions  of  her  idol.  The  day  she  would 
be  brought  to  realize  that  her  devotion  was  too  human  for 
a  demi-god,  she  would  marry  a  mere  man — but  a  man. 
Fortunately  for  the  Corsican,  he  had  too  much  to  do  to 
indulge  in  psychological  divagations  prompted  by  every- 
day jealousy — and  jealousy  without  grounds.  He  knew 
what  shape  the  thoughts  of  his  soldiers  would  take  after 
nightfall.  The  ghost  of  Death  is  wont  to  keep  in  close 
touch  with  bivouac  fires.  Once  the  troops  were  ready  and 
everything  was  cleared  for  action,  there  would  be  one  long, 
terrible  wait.  The  strongest  muscles  would  shake.  A  good 
half  of  those  who  were  marked  for  the  slaughter  would  have 
forebodings  of  their  end  and  the  dejected  would  lie  down 
in  dumb  despair.  Abd-er-Rhaman  knew  this.  He  could 
be  trusted  to  make  the  moral  agony  of  the  troops  defending 
Djebel  Zenaga  last  as  long  as  was  wise.  Then,  by  three 
in  the  morning,  at  the  hour  when  vitality  runs  lowest,  he 
would  launch  against  the  unnerved  defenders  of  the 
bastion  fresh  troops  rested  by  a  night's  sleep.  In  his 
calculations  he  had  merely  overlooked  that  his  foe  would 
choose  eleven  o'clock  for  a  counter-attack  and  would  fall 
upon  him  when  the  majority  of  his  troops  were  asleep. 


THE   SORTIE  311 

D'Ornano  spent  the  next  two  hours  interviewing  and 
cheering  the  men.  At  ten  o'clock,  he  gave  Capo  di  Borgo 
a  list  of  a  hundred  names,  explaining  that  the  bearers,  all 
picked  soldiers,  would  be  kept  in  reserve  until  he,  d'Or- 
nano,  took  them  in  hand  and  led  them  personally  to  the 
capture  of  the  guns.  After  a  rapid  perusal,  the  Lieutenant 
raised  his  eyebrows  in  mute  interrogation. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  d'Ornano. 

"  I  think  it  is  strange  that  you  should  have  included  every 
man  in  the  fourth  casemate,"  came  the  reply.  "  Of  course 
I  do  not  mean  to  criticise.  I  ask  the  question  solely  for 
the  profit  I  may  derive  from  the  answer.  If  I  may  speak 
freely,  I  will  say  that  you  were  right  in  choosing  O'Hara 
and  his  squad.  De  Plassieux,  Vouravief,  Etchegarray  are 
also  excellent  soldiers,  and  there  are  two  or  three  more  like 
them  lower  down  the  list.  What  I  would  like  to  know  is 
why,  on  a  basis  of  equality  of  merit,  you  have  chosen  to 
take  the  balance  of  the  forty." 

"Why?  .  .  .  And  what  of  the  bottles  I  gave  away  this 
afternoon  ?  "  the  Corsican  retorted.  "  I  insist  upon  getting 
the  worth  of  them,  and  I  am  inclined  to  take  the  view  that 
I  will  get  better  work  from  fellows  who  are  now  convinced 
that,  whenever  it  can  be  managed,  I  am  not  above  treating 
a  corporal  like  a  personal  friend.  O'Hara,  for  one,  will 
set  the  pace.  You  may  be  sure  that  the  others  will  follow 
to  a  man.  There  will  be  just  enough  rivalry  among  the 
detachments  to  assure  me  that  my  team  will  pull  as  no 
other  team  ever  pulled  before.  Bear  in  mind  that,  not- 
withstanding all  that  has  been  written  to  the  contrary,  a 
soldier  is  not  a  chess-piece.  You  yourself  would  not  do 
the  work  you  are  doing  if,  all  things  being  equal,  the  man 


312        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

in  command  bore  the  name  Coetlochan  de  Kervarec 
instead  of  Colonna  d'Ornano.  Now  about  face.  We  start 
in  half  an  hour." 

When  the  Lieutenant  was  gone,  he  spent  ten  minutes 
leaning  on  the  table,  lost  in  the  study  of  a  topographical 
map.  Then  he  ordered  a  sergeant  to  go  in  search  of 
Captain  Jarchin. 

"Are  you  ready?"  he  inquired  as  soon  as  the  officer 
stood  in  his  presence.  "Then  we  won't  delay  the  move 
any  longer.  The  first  point  we  must  gain  consists  in 
reaching  the  bottom  of  the  slope  without  giving  rise  to 
suspicion.  You  will  start  right  now  with  your  company 
of  Colonial  Infantry.  The  Turcos  will  follow  you  under 
your  direct  command.  These  troops  must  proceed  in 
small  groups  and  keep  hidden  in  the  trenches  until  you 
reach  the  outposts.  You  will  then  advance  '  en  tirailleurs' 
ten  at  a  time,  and,  no  matter  who  is  hit,  you  must  not  fire 
a  shot.  I  remind  you  that,  in  Plevna,  the  Russians  did 
better  still  and  stifled  their  groans.  When  you  have 
gained  the  position  shown  here,  you  will  wait  for  orders. 
Here  is  the  scheme  of  the  triangular  formation  we  will 
adopt.  You  occupy  apex  B,  in  direct  contact  with  Bou- 
Amel.  Apex  A  faces  Djebel-Zenaga  and  C  the  Sultan's 
artillery.  We  have  thus  a  wedge  which  the  reserve,  in  a 
position  such  that  it  can  hurry  to  your  assistance  in  the 
event  of  unforeseen  difficulties,  will  hammer  from  the 
centre  of  the  triangle.  The  minute  we  join  hands  with  the 
Joyeux,  you  will  enter  Bou-AmeFs  camp.  Be  careful 
that  your  colonial  troops  bear  the  brunt  of  the  bayonet 
rush;  but  let  the  natives  do  the  plundering,  for  they  are 
experts  at  the  work.     When  I  launch  the  reserve  in  C, 


THE   SORTIE  313 

the  troops  massed  in  A,  strengthened  by  the  Joyeux, 
will  fall  back  on  the  centre  of  the  triangle  so  as  to  present 
a  compact  mass  to  the  return  stroke  of  Abd-er-Rhaman's 
infantry.  You  and  I  will  then  be  at  the  wings,  with  no 
reserve  or  rear-guard.  Still,  so  long  as  you  are  not  told 
of  my  death,  attend  solely  to  getting  away  with  your 
plunder.  I  will  send  Capo  di  Borgo  to  the  rear-guard  as 
soon  as  I  have  got  those  guns." 

Jarchin  left  the  casemate,  and  the  Corsican  went  in 
search  of  the  non-commissioned  officers  who  were  to  serve 
as  estaffettes.  The  plan  of  operations  having  been  sum- 
marily explained  to  them,  they  were  told  what  to  do  in  the 
event  of  the  commander  being  killed  or  disabled,  and  what 
orders  to  issue  in  his  name  pending  the  assuming  of 
authority  by  Captain  Jarchin.  This  done,  he  went  to 
join  the  hundred  men  Capo  di  Borgo  had  gone  to  pick. 

Occasional  shooting  had  already  warned  him  that  the 
enemy's  sentries  were  aware  that  all  was  not  right  at  the 
outposts.  Still  their  firing  had  not  reached  enough  volume 
to  warrant  the  opinion  that  Bou-Amel  had  begun  to  suspect 
thai  a  move  of  some  kind  was  directed  against  him.  As 
soon  as  it  became  evident  that  Jarchin  was  master  of  the 
position  he  had  been  commissioned  to  capture,  the  troops 
now  lying  in  the  trenches  were  ordered  to  move  forward. 
The  diversion  made  on  the  right  would  enable  them  to  take 
their  position  at  the  head  of  the  triangle  without  great  loss. 
Instructing  an  estaffette  to  direct  the  movement,  d'Ornano 
himself  set  in  motion  the  troops  that  were  to  constitute 
the  left  wing.  Speed  had  become  the  great  factor  for  the 
success  of  this  movement.  The  trenches  were  not  used. 
When  they  reached  the  outposts,  they  gradually  accelerated 


314        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

the  pace  until  it  became  a  run.  The  quartermaster- 
sergeant  of  Spahis,  the  only  mounted  man  in  the  garrison, 
was  then  instructed  to  carry  the  order  to  move  towards 
Djebel-Zenaga  at  top  speed.  Violent  firing  breaking  of  a 
sudden  on  the  slopes  of  the  opposite  bastion  told  the 
Corsican  that  the  Joyeux  were  moving  in  the  direction 
of  the  enemy's  trenches.  At  this  juncture  he  was  informed 
that  the  fighting  in  A  had  become  a  hand-to-hand  struggle. 

For  a  minute,  ready  to  launch  his  reserve,  he  was  kept 
in  suspense.    Then  he  heard  cheering. 

The  field-guns  of  the  Sultan  were  now  belching  shrapnel. 
He  profited  by  the  short  time  the  search-light  of  the  fort 
rested  upon  him  to  look  at  his  body-guard.  O'Hara  had 
some  blood  on  his  cheek  and  on  the  left  hand.  Like  his 
comrades,  however,  he  still  stood  at  attention,  his  rifle  on 
the  shoulder.  If  anything  was  calculated  to  gratify  a 
commander,  it  was  the  behavior  of  these  men  idly  waiting 
for  the  bullets  without  betraying  alarm  or  impatience. 
Capo  di  Borgo  and  his  troop  had  already  gone.  There 
were  still  a  few  seconds  to  spare.  He  asked  the  Irishman 
if  he  was  hurt. 

The  answer  was  lost  in  the  roar  of  fierce  cannonading. 
Palsim  von  Brokow  had  become  aware  that  his  artillery 
was  one  of  the  goals  of  the  sortie.  Capo  di  Borgo  was  now 
bearing  all  the  brunt  of  his  fire. 

The  Corsican  drew  his  sword. 

"Children,  get  me  those  guns!"  he  shouted.  "There  is 
nothing  to  do  but  kill.     I  have  no  use  for  prisoners!" 

The  search-light  was  now  marking  the  goal.  In  the 
pitch  darkness  the  bayonets  shone  with  a  phosphorescent 
light.     They  passed  over  the  men  of  Capo  di  Borgo,  who 


THE    SORTIE  315 

had  lain  down  to  avoid  being  mowed  down.  Aiming  at 
the  destruction  of  this  troop,  the  guns  were  now  firing  too 
low.  Before  the  pointing  had  been  rectified,  d'Ornano 
was  on  the  gunners. 

Sped  by  a  revolver,  a  bullet  grazed  his  hand.  When 
he  turned  at  the  report,  it  was  too  late  for  him  to  save 
the  life  of  the  marksman.  Through  the  carefully  trimmed 
beard,  O'Hara's  bayonet  had  found  a  throat.  Palsim  von 
Brokow  had  fallen  on  one  of  his  field-pieces. 

The  Corsican  removed  his  kepi  and  for  ten  seconds 
gazed  at  the  prostrate  form.  No  doubt  O'Hara  read  the 
mute  reproof  in  his  glance.  He  wiped  his  bayonet  and 
vouchsafed : 

"He'd  have  done  it  to  you,  sir." 

D'Ornano  requested  him  to  lend  him  his  military  medal 
until  they  were  back  in  the  bastion  where  he  could  give 
him  another.  Extremely  puzzled,  the  Irishman  handed 
him  the  star  which  a  private  commonly  earns  for  gallantry, 
but  which  an  officer  never  receives  until  the  end  of  his 
career  or  before  he  has  uncommonly  distinguished  him- 
self. 

Kneeling,  the  Corsican  pinned  the  decoration  on  the 
breast  of  his  foe.    Then  he  raised  himself  and  said : 

"And  now  we  are  free  to  attend  to  Bou-Amel!" 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

HANDS   IN  THE   SALT 

This  was  the  fourth  day  of  his  torment.  Now  frantic 
from  extreme  suffering,  Sidi-Malik  was  cursing  his  jailer 
for  having  again  refused  to  cut  open  the  goat-leather  gloves 
imprisoning  his  swollen  fists.  He  had  swooned  once. 
Knowing  that  losses  of  consciousness  would  now  succeed 
each  other  at  shortening  intervals,  and  that  lockjaw  would 
soon  declare  itself,  he  passed  alternately  from  supplications 
to  threats,  promising  treasures  he  had  never  possessed  in 
exchange  for  freedom  or  a  mere  alleviation  of  suffering. 

Two  days  before  he  had  been  brought  into  Figuig, 

leaving   the   caves   of   the   Zousfana,   where   Bou-Amel 

judged  that  spies  had  become  too  numerous.    He  had  been 

transferred  to  this  jail,  a  subterranean  oubliette  built  under 

the  cells  occupied  by  lesser  criminals.    A  special  guardian 

had  been  allotted  him.    The  man  had  been  instructed  to 

give  him  very  little  food  and  not  enough  water  to  quench 

his  thirst;    a  fiendish  precaution  designed  to  foster  the 

maximum  of  suffering  while  keeping  the  victim  alive  and 

sensitive.      Sidi-Malik    would    die;     but   he    would    die 

conscious,  and  the  very  intensity  of  the  pain  he  endured 

would  kill  him.     Four  cuts  had  been  made  with  a  knife 

in  the  palm  of  each  hand;  a  handful  of  salt  had  been  laid 

on  the  wounds,  and  the  fists  had  been  closed  in  such  a 

316 


HANDS   IN  THE   SALT  317 

way  that  the  tip  of  a  finger  was  introduced  into  each  cut. 
A  leather  glove,  sewn  while  still  wet,  had  so  tightened  by 
drying  that  it  was  impossible  to  move  the  fingers,  whose 
nails  were  now  growing  through  the  raw  flesh.  Such  is 
the  reward  Moghrabis  hold  in  reserve  for  the  man  guilty 
of  sacrilege,  the  spy  and  the  bandit. 

The  cell  where  he  lay  was  large,  dark  and  extremely 
filthy,  carpeted  with  mouldy  straw  and  strewn  with  pieces 
of  earthenware.  Light  came  in  by  a  peep-hole  cut  in  the 
wall  to  enable  the  warden  to  keep  an  eye  on  his  prisoners. 
In  the  morning  hours,  when  the  sun  fell  full  upon  the  stair- 
way leading  to  the  court-yard,  the  dungeon  received  by 
this  wicket  light  sufficient  to  enable  the  guardian  to  see 
into  the  remotest  corner;  but  after  twelve  o'clock  it  took 
a  prisoner's  eyes  to  pierce  the  mystery  of  this  mildewed 
and  vermin-breeding  darkness. 

The  fifth  day  of  his  torment  was  soon  to  begin,  and  yet 
the  camel-driver  had  not  abandoned  all  hope.  Aware  that 
Leyton  was  at  last  a  free  man — Anoun-Dialo  had  given 
a  narrative  of  the  American's  escape — Sidi-Malik  fully 
trusted  to  the  devotion  of  his  friend.  But  he  was  also 
aware  that  there  were  high  walls  around  the  court-yard; 
that  Bou-Amel  had  two  hundred  men  on  duty  in  the  kasbah, 
and  that  death  was  unavoidable  unless  rescue  came  within 
forty-eight  hours.  He  had  tried  to  win  over  the  jailer 
and  had  failed.  It  was  not  that  the  keeper  was  inhuman, 
or  even  faithful  to  his  master.  But  he  was  afraid.  What- 
ever was  accomplished  must  be  without  his  help. 

On  his  knees  and  elbows  the  camel-driver  crawled 
towards  the  corner  where  he  still  kept  a  few  figs.  He  fed 
like  a  beast,  his  face  deep  in  the  straw.     Then  he  lay  still. 


318        IN   THE   WAKE   OF   THE    GREEN   BANNER 

Provided  he  remained  perfectly  quiet,  he  was  still  able  to 
sleep  a  few  minutes  at  a  time;  as  long  as  sharp  pains  in  his 
armpits  did  not  come  to  remind  him  that  the  time  was  fast 
approaching  when  he  would  be  no  longer  able  to  sleep  at 
all.  Fortunately,  he  had  foreseen  what  punishment  lay 
in  store  for  him.  His  nails  had  previously  been  long  and 
badly  tended,  as  is  usual  with  natives.  He  had  bitten  them 
off  on  his  way  to  the  camp  of  Bou-Amel  and  had  been  care- 
ful to  keep  them  short.  To  this  precaution  he  undoubtedly 
owed  that  he  was  still  alive.  It  was  now  perhaps  seven 
o'clock;  his  cell  had  suddenly  become  so  dark  that  he  sur- 
mised that  the  sun  was  setting.     He  soon  fell  into  slumber. 

His  rest  was  disturbed  by  nightmares.  Occasional  pains 
caused  him  to  groan  and  change  sides.  The  snoring  of 
tom-toms  and  derbukkhas  awoke  him  two  hours  later. 
A  dim  red  flickering  light  entered  his  cell  by  the  jailer's 
wicket.  This,  he  thought,  proceeded  either  from  a  bon- 
fire lighted  in  honor  of  victory  or  from  torches  burning  in 
the  court-yard,  not  far  from  the  head  of  the  stairs.  The 
music  indicated  that  some  sort  of  festive  celebration,  a 
dance,  or  perhaps  a  snake-charming  exhibition,  was  about 
to  take  place.  Not  unlikely,  Bou-Amers  guards,  weary  of 
the  sight  of  bare  walls,  had  profited  by  an  absence  of  the 
Maddhi  to  introduce  Ouled-Nai'ls  within  the  precincts  of 
the  kasbah. 

On  his  knees  and  elbows  Sidi-Malik  crawled  towards 
the  peep-hole.  He  already  knew  that  his  jailer  was  not 
sitting  in  his  customary  place.  In  the  passageway  between 
the  cell  and  the  stairs  no  silhouette  interposed  itself  between 
the  wicket  and  the  lighted  face  of  the  opposite  wall.  This 
wicket  was  just  large  enough  to  allow  a  head  to  pass 


HANDS   IN   THE    SALT  319 

through.  Surmising  that  his  keeper  had  gone  to  join  the 
merry  crowd  now  collected  around  the  performers,  he 
resolved  to  have  a  look  outside,  and  see  if,  by  any  chance, 
he  could  not  contrive  some  means  of  escape.  He  ap- 
proached the  peep-hole  cautiously  and  noiselessly.  Aware 
that  a  mistake  would  swiftly  meet  with  its  reward — a 
matrack  blow  on  his  skull  already  bursting  from  fever — 
he  made  sure,  by  looking  to  right  and  left,  that  nobody 
stood  near  the  door.  Then  he  passed  his  head  through 
and  looked  towards  the  stairs. 

What  he  saw  in  the  passage  made  him  withdraw  his  head 
so  quickly  that  he  knocked  his  chin  against  the  side  of  the 
partition.  There  were  two  human  forms  outside.  One, 
limp,  fallen  in  a  kneeling  position,  the  head  lifted  and  the 
back  against  the  wall,  was,  or  had  been,  his  jailer.  The 
face  was  blotched;  the  eyes  bulged  out  of  their  sockets; 
t\\e  bowstring  with  which  the  strangling  had  been  accom- 
plished was  still  tig.ht  around  the  swollen  neck.  The  other 
was  that  of  a  man  leaning  against  the  door  of  the  cell,  a 
motionless  silhouette  interposed  between  the  wicket  and 
the  source  of  light.  As  the  unknown  faced  the  stairway, 
Sidi-Malik  had  seen  only  the  mere  outline  of  a  naked 
body,  a  black  shadow  standing  in  strong  relief  against  the 
red  glare  of  torches.  He  appeared  to  be  a  man  of  middle 
height.    Presumably  he  was  the  strangler. 

Trembling  from  fever,  fear  and  hope,  too  shaky  to  stand, 
Sidi-Malik  sat  down  to  think.  He  had  retreated  so  rapidly 
that  he  was  still  in  the  dark  touching  the  nature  of  the 
performance  about  to  take  place.  He  made  the  survey 
of  his  chances.  If  the  performers  were  dancing  girls, 
they  had  not  come  for  him.    If  they  were  snake-charmers, 


320       IN   THE   WAKE    OF   THE    GREEN  BANNER 

they  might  have  been  sent  by  Si-Hamza.  If  they  were 
Aissaoua.  ...  A  cold  sweat  ran  down  his  back.  Shaking 
violently,  he  got  up  to  take  a  second  look. 

The  corpse  so  fascinated  him  that  he  found  it  hard  to 
remove  his  glance.  Among  other  shortcomings,  Sidi- 
Malik  had  that  of  practising  very  seldom  forgiveness  of 
injuries.  When  he  looked  towards  the  stairs,  he  saw  that 
the  naked  man  still  kept  his  original  posture.  Although 
people  stood  too  near  the  stairway  to  allow  his  glance  to 
penetrate  within  the  lighted  circle,  he  could  now  see  that 
the  glow  proceeded  from  torches,  its  flickering  being  of 
too  complex  a  nature  to  warrant  the  hypothesis  of  a  bon- 
fire. He  did  not  have  to  wait  long  to  ascertain  who  the 
performers  were.  What  began  in  a  whisper  soon  grew 
into  the  lullaby  uttered  by  Aissaoua  when  dancing  hand 
in  hand.  Shortly  afterwards  he  heard  raging  yells. 
The  hysterical  fakirs,  barking  like  famished  dogs,  were 
going  into  convulsions.  His  heart  leapt.  Wild  hope,  the 
promise  of  a  life  he  had  thought  forfeited,  shook  him  from 
head  to  foot.  But  a  keener  suffering  was  just  about  to 
commence.  He,  who  had  waited  four  days  for  the  coming 
of  this  minute,  could  now  scarcely  muster  enough  patience 
to  await  the  opening  of  this  horrible  door. 

Waiting  thus,  with  tense  nerves,  was  as  much  as  he 
could  endure  without  yielding  to  the  temptation  of  howling. 
Caught  between  the  realization  of  the  torment  he  suffered 
in  this  rat-hole  and  the  promise  of  rest  and  sunshine,  he 
felt  that  he  was  going  mad;  the  thought  that  perhaps  this 
hope  would  prove  illusory  being  especially  disheartening. 
For  half  an  hour  the  man  at  the  door  kept  his  extraordinary 
immobility.    Then  Sidi-Malik  heard  a  guttural  exclama- 


HANDS  IN  THE  SALT  321 

tion.  This  must  have  been  a  signal  of  some  sort,  for  the 
Aissaoui  turned  about  and  faced  him. 

Again  Sidi-Malik  retreated  inside  his  cell,  holding  his 
breath,  motionless,  his  heart  beating  a  prodigious  tattoo 
against  his  ribs.  He  waited  for  the  grating  of  a  key  in  the 
lock.  But  he  was  again  doomed  to  disappointment.  The 
figure  in  the  passage  moved  rapidly  towards  the  wicket. 
Sidi-Malik  thought  he  was  about  to  speak;  but  the  Aissaoui 
contented  himself  with  picking  up  the  body  of  the  jailer. 

So  great  was  the  sufferer's  excitement  that  he  attempted 
to  speak  and  could  not.  A  minute  later  the  door  of  his 
cell  opened.  The  Aissaoui  threw  the  corpse  on  the  straw 
and  began  feeling  his  way  in  the  darkness.  No  doubt  he 
expected  to  find  Sidi-Malik  either  in  a  sleeping  or  a  fainting 
condition,  for  he  leapt  back  when  he  heard  him  move. 
The  camel-driver  caught  the  flash  of  a  flissa. 

"Who  is  there?"  came  the  voice  of  the  unknown  in  a 
guarded  whisper. 

"Sidi-Malik,  son  of  Hachem,"  the  camel-driver  contrived 
to  reply.  "Who  art  thou,  and  who  sends  thee?  Sidi 
Leltoun?" 

"Sidi  Leitoun  and  Si-Hamza.  I  am  the  man  who 
brought  thee  food  Tuesday.  My  name  is  Muhamed,  son 
of  Khadour." 

"  Blessings  be  given  to  thee  for  the  pity  extended  to  the 
sufferer,  Muhamed-ben-Khadour."  Sidi-Malik  replied. 
"Thy  father  was  wise.  May  our  Lord  Muhamed  anoint 
his  head  with  perfumed  oil.  What  am  I  to  expect  from 
thee?" 

"Freedom,  Inshallah!  if  thou  art  silent.  Come  to  the 
light." 

or  the    "* 

UNIVERSITY 


322        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

Sidi-Malik  complied  with  the  summons.  Near  the  door, 
in  the  dim  reflected  light,  the  Aissaoui  split  the  gloves  with 
his  knife.  When  his  fingers,  so  long  imprisoned,  were  at 
last  extended,  the  camel-driver  experienced  an  excruciating 
pain.     However,  he  succeeded  in  stifling  a  shriek. 

"Thou  wilt  be  an  Aissaoui  to-night,"  said  the  rescuer  in 
way  of  explanation.     "  Undress!" 

Sidi-Malik  divested  himself,  not  sorry  to  get  rid  of  his 
vermin.  Then  without  soap,  with  a  dull  knife,  and  so  hur- 
riedly that  he  cut  him  several  times,  the  Aissaoui  shaved  him. 
The  emergency  Figaro  commented  in  a  reassuring  tone : 

"Since  thou  art  an  Aissaoui,  blood  is  the  best  of  dis- 
guises. I  shall  cut  thee  some  more.  It  will  also  relieve 
pain.  Blood  is  pollution  itself  when  the  hands  have  been 
long  in  the  salt.     Come  nearer!" 

Soon  afterwards,  locking  the  door,  he  pushed  the  bleed- 
ing man  through  the  passage.  Disfigured  by  a  multitude 
of  small  cuts,  Sidi-Malik  painfully  ascended  the  stairs. 
They  made  their  way  through  the  crowd,  if  not  unnoticed 
at  least  unrecognized.  Muhamed  made  for  the  gate. 
The  unsuspecting  sentry  allowed  them  to  pass.  They 
were  out;   the  Aissaoui  began  to  run. 

Sidi-Malik  attempted  to  follow.  But  he  was  so  weak 
that  after  two  hundred  yards  he  stumbled  and  fell  flat  on 
his  face.  Covered  with  blood  and  dust,  he  was,  indeed,  a 
sorry  sight.  Knowing  that  they  were  not  yet  far  enough 
from  Bou-Amers  kasbah  to  tarry  long,  Muhamed  gave 
vent  to  an  exclamation  of  annoyance.  But  help  was  now 
to  be  had.  He  ran  swiftly  for  five  hundred  steps.  Turn- 
ing a  corner,  he  signalled  to  his  accomplices  by  means  of  a 
shrill  and  strangely  modulated  whistle. 


HANDS  IN  THE   SALT  323 

He  ran  back.  During  his  absence,  Sidi-Malik  had 
staggered  to  his  feet.  He  was  now  leaning  against  a  low 
wall,  in  the  thick  shadow  of  overhanging  vines.  They 
waited.  Suddenly  they  heard  the  noise  of  galloping  horses, 
and  Leyton  and  Si-Hamza,  followed  by  some  chaouchs, 
came  clattering  along.  Both  of  them  had  their  revolvers 
cocked  and  raised.  They  had  come  prepared  for  some 
affray,  and  they  saw  with  surprise  that  the  path  before 
them  was  free  from  obstacles.  Sidi-Malik  and  his  rescuer 
were  so  inconspicuous  that  they  nearly  ran  past.  A  shout 
from  the  Aissaoui  stopped  them. 

"Why  didst  thou  call,  Muhamed?"  asked  Si-Hamza. 
"  Has  there  been  a  fight  ?    Where  is  the  son  of  Hachem  ?  " 

Sidi-Malik,  so  covered  with  blood  and  dirt  that  Leyton 
would  never  have  recognized  him,  was  already  prostrate 
in  the  dust,  sobbing  and  kissing  the  horses'  hoofs.  Leyton 
alighted.  Catching  hold  of  the  camel-driver  under  the 
arms,  he  raised  him.  His  exclamation  drew  the  attention 
of  Si-Hamza. 

"Bismillah!"  ejaculated  the  chieftain.  "Whose  work 
is  this,  Muhamed,  son  of  a  dog  ?    Who  cut  him  ?" 

"Oh,  Sidi,  ya  Sidi,"  sobbed  Sidi-Malik,  "Muhamed 
did  well  and  deserves  only  praise.  The  cuts  are  not  deep, 
Protector  of  the  Poor.  I  was  dead;  thou  comest,  and, 
behold,  again  I  am  alive.  My  hands  truly  hurt  me;  and 
the  glands  of  my  armpits  are  much  swollen;  but  Muhamed 
only  gave  flow  to  the  bad  blood.  Look  at  my  hands, 
Sidi !  Feel  them !  Do  they  not  look  meskeen  ?  .  .  .  Let  us 
go  now  and  get  the  help  of  the  hakim,  if  such  is  thy  pleasure, 
for,  truly,  I  am  very  sick." 

"Canst  thou  ride?"  asked  Si-Hamza.    "We  will  find  a 


324   IN  THE  WAKE  OF  THE  GREEN  BANNER 

French  doctor  in  my  house.  It  is  not  far  away.  Shall  I 
take  thee  to  him,  or  art  thou  afraid  of  Christian  ha- 
kims?" 

"  I  am  not  afraid,  Sidi.  Yes,  let  it  be  a  Nazarene;  they 
know  much  in  matters  of  life  and  death.  I  can  ride.  It 
was  also  a  Christian  hakim  who  took  care  of  me  when  I 
had  small-pox  and  healed  me.  Let  us  go  now,  if  it 
pleases  thy  reverence.  Bou-Amers  men  might  come  and 
I  am  too  weak  to  fight." 

Leyton  helped  him  to  his  own  saddle  and  borrowed  the 
horse  of  a  chaouch.  A  speedy  run  through  Figuig's 
huerta  began.  They  were  going  to  El-Mai'z  Inferior, 
where  Si-Hamza  had  his  headquarters.  All  was  quiet  and 
fragrant  under  the  stars.  For  a  while  they  galloped 
along  a  road  built  through  the  thick  of  a  forest  of  palms 
interlaced  by  a  tangle  of  canals.  All  at  once,  Sidi-Malik 
noticed  something  like  a  falling  star  crossing  the  sky 
overhead.  Almost  simultaneously,  he  heard  the  detonation 
of  a  gun  and  the  drier  report  of  a  bursting  shell.  He  was 
startled.  But  before  he  could  speak  another  star  crossed 
the  heavens. 

"Allah  Kerim!"  he  exclaimed.  "Mother  of  Bebee- 
Miriam,  what  is  this?" 

Leyton  and  Si-Hamza  were  intently  looking  towards 
d'Ornano's  bastion.     The  painter  answered  in  French: 

"  It  is  d'Ornano.  He  must  have  repaired  and  remounted 
his  guns." 

"  Ya  Utah!    Is  Sidi  d'Ornano  still  holding  out  ?" 

Leyton  chuckled.  "Four  bastions  are  still  holding," 
he  replied.  "See.  Here  comes  another  shell."  Then  in 
another  tone  of  voice:  "Goodness!    What's  the  matter? 


HANDS   IN  THE   SALT  325 

Beni-Ounif,  Djebel-Zenaga  and  Wad-el-Haluf  seem  to  be 
firing  on  Djebel-Hamam." 

Si-Hamza  had  reined  his  horse.  The  three  of  them  re- 
mained still  on  the  road,  with  the  chaouchs  at  a  distance. 
The  guns  of  the  three  bastions  were  now  booming. 

"A  night  attack,"  declared  the  chieftain.  "Gun-fire  is 
sweeping  our  trenches;  but,  for  all  that,  I  fear  it's  all  over 
with  Djebel-Hamam." 

He  explained  that  the  trenches  had  been  pushed  in  that 
direction,  and  that  everything  was  now  ready  for  a  storm- 
ing. If  Djebel-Hamam  fell,  it  meant  the  capture  of  Gen- 
eral Pluvigne*,  perhaps  surrender.  Leyton  asked  him  if 
the  commanders  of  the  three  remaining  bastions  would 
be  bound  by  the  word  of  a  prisoner  of  war.  Si-Hamza 
admitted  that  they  would  not.  A  prisoner  is  no  longer  a 
chief  and  cannot  insure  obedience.  As  they  spoke,  the 
fire  attained  its  maximum  intensity.  This  fierce  can- 
nonading lasted  ten  minutes.  Leyton  exclaimed  of  a 
sudden: 

"Look,  by  Jove!  Look!  Is  this  what  you  call  a  sur- 
render?" 

A  tremor  of  the  ground  had  been  followed  by  an  im- 
mense cloud  of  dust.  The  northern  stars  disappeared. 
The  search-lights  of  Djebel-Zenaga  and  of  Wad-el-Haluf, 
hesitated,  and  jumped  from  right  to  left,  carefully  searching 
the  hillside.  Slowly,  the  cloud  settled  on  a  heap  of  ruins. 
Djebel-Hamam  had  buried  its  defenders. 

Si-Hamza  gave  rein  and  made  his  horse  feel  the  spur. 
They  covered  a  mile  in  mournful  silence.  Leyton  asked 
the  chieftain  how  long  he  supposed  the  other  bastions 
would  hold  out. 


326        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

"Beni-Ounif  and  Djebel-Zenaga  will  go  three  days," 
came  the  reply.  "  Wad-el-Haluf  a  week  at  the  most. 
"There  will  be  no  storming  on  that  side.  It  is  rock,  and 
trenches  can't  be  opened.  A  direct  assault  all  along  the 
accessible  slope  can't  be  thought  of;  we  have  already  lost 
enough  men  against  those  barbed-wire  fences." 

"Then  I  don't  see  how  you  are  going  to  manage,"  inter- 
rupted the  American.  "D'Ornano  told  me  four  days  ago 
that  he  had  food  for  three  weeks." 

"He  did  not  know  then  that  his  cisterns  were  leaking. 
We  can't  stay  here  until  the  call  of  Judgment,  you  under- 
stand. We  are  losing  time;  and  every  day  spent  in  Figuig 
gives  a  new  regiment  to  the  Nineteenth  Army  Corps."  He 
added  more  calmly  after  a  pause,  "Not  that  I  wish  harm 
to  d'Ornano.  He  was  'mow  ancien'  at  the  Academy,  and 
I  would  go  far  to  help  him  out.  But  I  took  a  hand  in 
this  game,  and  I  insist  upon  pulling  out  with  a  whole  skin. 
Figuig  was  given  me.  So  far,  so  good.  Only  I  begin  to 
wonder  whether  I  have  not  made  a  fool's  bargain.  Surely, 
what  is  left  of  the  oasis  is  not  worth  the  loss  of  five  thousand 
of  my  men." 

Leyton  made  no  answer  to  this  platonic  regret.  Like 
Si-Hamza,  he  had  his  grudge  against  d'Ornano;  and,  like 
him,  he  found  it  impossible  to  foster  bad  feelings  against 
a  man  of  this  stamp.  He  gave  all  his  attention  to  Sidi- 
Malik,  who  had  begun  to  complain  of  the  long  ride. 
Here  was  consolation.  It  was  good  to  have  Sidi-Malik 
again  at  his  side;  meskeen  Sidi-Malik,  bloody,  dusty, 
naked  Sidi-Malik,  whose  weary  face  was  flushed  with 
fever  and  whose  arms  were  swollen  from  the  finger  nails 
to  the  shoulders.     The  poor  fellow,  unable  to  handle  the 


HANDS   IN  THE   SALT  327 

reins,  guided  his  horse  with  the  knee,  his  gymnastics  in  the 
high  saddle  forcibly  reminding  the  painter  of  the  mimicry 
of  a  monkey  bleeding  after  an  escape  accomplished  through 
broken  glass. 

They  were  entering  El-Maiz  Inferior.  In  two  minutes 
they  reached  the  house  Si-Hamza  had  chosen  for  his 
quarters.  Assistant-Surgeon  Farlede  was  in  attendance. 
Before  he  could  utter  a  protest,  the  bewildered  Sidi-Malik 
was  plunged  into  a  weak  solution  of  bichloride,  thoroughly 
washed  and  placed  upon  the  operating-table.  Farlede 
had  fully  expected  the  necessity  of  amputation.  But  Sidi- 
Matik's  foresight,  in  chewing  his  finger  nails,  had  done 
much  to  minimize  the  danger  of  blood-poisoning.  The 
handful  of  salt  had  done  the  rest.  Irritation  alone  was 
responsible  for  the  swollen  condition  of  the  glands;  and 
this  would  subside  after  two  or  three  days'  rest.  The 
sufferer  was  coated  with  iodoform,  properly  bandaged  and 
put  to  bed.     He  slept  until  ten  the  next  morning. 

A  few  minutes  before  he  awoke,  Si-Hamza  received  a 
letter.  It  was  from  Djeilma.  Leyton,  returning  from  his 
morning  call  to  the  hospital,  was  just  entering  the  house. 
The  young  sheikh  translated  the  message.     It  read: 

"  There  is  no  God  but  God.  This  is  to  bring  to  thy  knowledge, 
Si-Hamza,  that  Sidi-Malik  has  been  communicated  with.  But  a 
curse  is  upon  this  undertaking  and  I  can  do  nothing  else.  I  entered 
Bou-Amel's  harem  under  the  disguise  of  a  fortune-teller  to  see 
whether  I  could  not  decide  some  of  the  servants  to  help  us.  A 
eunuch  recognized  me.  His  name  is  Mustapha,  and  in  Muley- 
Hassan's  time  he  was  grand  eunuch  in  the  Kasbah  of  Marakesh. 
Sidi  Leitoun  will  tell  thee  how  it  came  about  that  Sidi-Malik  robbed 
him  of  all  his  goods.  Now  he  seeks  his  revenge  and  keeps  me  a 
prisoner  in  the  harem." 


328        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

"Of  all  things!"  laughed  the  American.  " Henceforth, 
when  anybody  denies  before  me  the  existence  of  immanent 
justice,  I  will  tell  him  the  story  of  Djeilma.  The  trouble 
is  that  you  never  know  when  she  tells  the  truth  and  when 
she  lies.  In  doubt  we  may  safely  assume  the  latter. 
Suppose  we  tell  Sidi-Malik.  He  may  be  able  to  en- 
lighten us." 

Si-Hamza  gave  his  assent.  They  entered  the  camel- 
driver's  room.  At  the  first  words  from  the  painter,  Sidi- 
Malik  began  to  swear  like  a  pagan,  binding  himself  by 
oath  to  take  the  trail  after  Djeilma  as  soon  as  he  would 
be  able.  In  the  thick  of  his  vituperation,  Muhamed-ben- 
Khadour,  the  Ai'ssaoui  who,  the  night  before,  had  rescued 
the  camel-driver,  made  his  entrance.  Sidi-Malik  turned  to 
him.  In  a  few  words,  he  furnished  him  with  a  description 
of  the  man  who  could  throw  light  upon  the  mystery  of 
Djeilma's  disappearance. 

"Watch  for  the  one-eyed  M'zabite  who  always  makes 
the  tale  of  the  two  camels  follow  that  of  the  khames  and  the 
man-donkey  who  insulted  his  mother,"  he  said.  "He 
calls  the  khames  Bradett.  The  eye  he  lost  is  the  left  eye. 
He  is  himself  a  khouan  of  the  Derbaa  fraternity,  white- 
bearded,  with  only  four  toes  to  his  left  foot.  One  of  his 
beads  is  blood-red;  three  of  them  are  green;  five  are 
lacking.  He  also  has  in  his  possession  a  Spanish  knife 
with  a  broken  blade,  and  a  drinking-cup  made  of  tin,  which 
he  stole  from  a  French  soldier." 

This  was  all.  The  name  of  the  man  he  did  not  know 
and  his  tattooing  was  of  too  common  a  pattern  to  warrant 
description.  But  Muhamed-ben-Khadour  knew  now  all 
that  was  necessary.     Presumably,  he  had  a  number  of 


HANDS  IN  THE   SALT  329 

stool-pigeons  ready  to  take  the  trail,  for  he  salaamed  and 
disappeared,  binding  himself  by  oath  to  locate  and  produce 
the  M'zabite  within  four  days.  The  camel-driver  went 
back  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  HONORS   OF  WAR 

The  two  following  days  were  comparatively  uneventful. 
Leyton  spent  most  of  his  time  at  Gisele's  side,  in  the  hos- 
pital. The  girl,  evidently  at  the  limit  of  her  endurance, 
went  on  with  her  task  with  a  mournful  look  and  a 
drawn  face.  Despite  the  fact  that  wounded  men  now 
occupied  every  inch  of  the  available  space  and  were  often 
laid  under  the  beds,  she  steadfastly  refused  the  help 
her  cousin  proffered  many  times;  reminding  him  that 
there  were  male  attendants  to  do  the  heavy  work.  But 
five  minutes  later  he  would  find  her  carrying  a  wounded 
man,  and  he  would  learn  that  she  had  vainly  requested 
assistance.  It  was  all  too  evident  that,  in  the  accomplish- 
ment of  her  task,  she  sought  to  relieve  a  mortal  anguish. 
The  painter  had  little  difficulty  in  guessing  the  cause  of 
her  absent-mindedness.  Too  often  he  caught  her  at  the 
window,  intently  looking  towards  the  Wad-el-Haluf,  not 
to  realize  that  the  thoughts  of  her  days  and  nights  were 
equally  a  nightmare,  and  that  the  image  she  had  con- 
stantly before  her  eyes  was  that  of  a  human  form  torn  by 
shrapnel. 

When  he  surprised  her  in  this  attitude,  she  invariably 

flushed  and  walked  away.     Gone  forever  the  days  when 

they  exchanged  confidences.    She  had  little  to  say  at  all 

330 


THE   HONORS  OF  WAR  331 

times,  and  she  became  almost  angry  the  day  he  proposed 
to  take  her  for  a  ride.  All  at  once,  she  had  developed  all 
the  unconscious  injustice  and  cruelty  of  the  real  woman. 
Once  she  had  answered  to  his  questioning  that  she  fully 
intended  to  remain  sole  mistress  of  her  thoughts.  Another 
time  she  had  protested  that  too  long  he  had  treated  her  as 
his  own,  and  that  his  constant  visits  made  her  an  object  of 
gossip  among  the  wounded  and  attendants.  Yet  a  few 
minutes  later  she  begged  his  pardon,  almost  tearfully,  and 
ended  by  promising  that,  provided  Surgeon  Dugon  gave 
her  leave  to  go,  she  would  take  a  ride  with  him  in  the 
morning. 

Thus  it  happened  that  Leyton  went  back  to  El-Maiz 
Inferior  half  thankful,  half  furious.  Jealous  of  d'Ornano 
he  undoubtedly  was.  Yet  the  thought  that  on  the  mor- 
row he  would  steal  a  march  on  his  rival  shore  this  feeling 
of  some  of  its  bitterness.  He  found  Sidi-Malik  sitting  up 
and  doing  well.  That  evening,  Si-Hamza  came  back 
early  from  headquarters.  After  dinner  he  proposed  a 
game  of  cards.     They  played  until  ten  o'clock. 

Leyton  slept  soundly,  so  soundly  that  he  was  not  even 
awakened  by  the  roar  of  artillery.  A  week  of  constant 
cannonading  had  rendered  him  indifferent  to  all  noises. 
Moreover,  the  theatre  of  the  contest  was  situated  at  the 
other  extremity  of  the  oasis.  At  about  three  o'clock  he 
was  awakened  by  Si-Hamza. 

"What  do  you  suppose  d'Ornano  has  done  now?" 
were  the  young  chiefs  first  words.  "At  midnight,  when 
our  troops  were  all  asleep  in  the  trenches,  Djebel-Zenaga 
and  Wad-el-Haluf  made  a  simultaneous  sortie.  D'Ornano 
kicked   Bou-Amel's   camp   all   upside   down.     He   went 


332        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

clear  through,  put  everybody  in  the  way  to  the  bayonet, 
joined  hands  with  Djebel-Zenaga  and  made  good  his 
retreat  on  Wad-el-Haluf." 

"Then  Djebel-Zenaga  has  been  abandoned  ?"  questioned 
the  painter. 

"  Abandoned  ?  Damn  it!  We  have  got  the  four  walls. 
They  captured  five  of  our  guns,  almost  all  of  our  ammu- 
nition, food,  everything.  Bou-Amel  is  weeping  like  a 
woman.  Five  thousand  killed,  he  says;  and  I  don't  know 
how  many  are  lying  in  heaps  in  the  trenches.  We  occupy 
the  bastion,  all  right.  But  d'Ornano  has  food  for  a  month, 
all  the  guns  he  can  handle  and  over  eight  hundred  men. 
It  is  an  impossible  situation." 

"Impossible!  ...  It  all  depends  on  what  you  can  do  to 
end  it." 

"  Abd-er-Rhaman  is  thinking,  I  suppose.  Are  you  com- 
ing?   I  want  to  see  the  havoc." 

Leyton  complied  with  his  request.  At  five  o'clock,  as 
they  were  returning  from  their  visit,  they  witnessed  the 
first  results  of  the  night's  affray.  D'Ornano  had  now 
projectiles  to  spare.  One  by  one,  he  began  to  lay  in  ashes 
all  the  villages  in  the  oasis. 

None  better  than  Sidi-Malik  experienced  the  effect  of 
this  sudden  change  of  fortune.  At  six  o'clock  he  was 
awakened  by  a  terrific  explosion,  some  plaster  falling  on 
his  face  and  a  pandemonium  of  yells  following  close  upon 
the  blast.  One  of  d'Ornano's  shells  had  burst  near  by, 
knocking  down  one  of  the  walls  of  the  house,  shaking  the 
whole  to  its  foundations,  killing  one  man  outright  and 
slightly  wounding  two  others.  Sidi-Malik  was  not  hurt. 
But,  unacquainted  as  he  was  with  the  effects  of  melinite 


THE   HONORS  OF  WAR  333 

shells,  he  tumbled  out  of  bed  and  ran  yelling  into  the 
street.  At  the  corner,  while  watching  the  burning  wreck- 
age, he  recovered  enough  presence  of  mind  to  ask  questions. 
El-Maiz  Inferior  was  within  range,  that  was  all.  Another 
shell  fell  and  exploded  in  the  immediate  vicinity.  His 
spirits  again  dropping  to  a  low  ebb,  thinking  that  this  was 
beastly  inconsiderate  on  the  part  of  a  friend,  the  camel- 
driver  resumed  his  flight. 

He  had  not  gone  far  when  he  ran  into  Leyton,  Anoun- 
Dialo  and  Si-Hamza.  From  the  minaret  of  the  near-by 
mosque  the  three  men  had  witnessed  the  explosion  of  the 
first  shell.  Anxious  to  ascertain  the  extent  of  the  damage, 
they  had  taken  the  shortest  road  to  the  street.  Leyton 
and  Anoun-Dialo  undertook  to  remove  the  wounded  man 
to  a  safer  location.  The  painter  spoke  of  the  hospital. 
Si-Hamza  left  them  to  run  to  headquarters. 

Horses  were  saddled.  They  reached  El-Hamam  ten 
minutes  later  and  Sidi-Malik  was  again  put  into  bed. 
Anoun-Dialo  took  charge  of  the  installation  and  was  not 
interfered  with.  Leyton  explained  to  Gisele  and  to  the  two 
surgeons  the  change  for  the  better  which  had  taken  place  in 
d'Ornano's  affairs.  The  young  woman  was  not  ready  for 
her  ride,  but  she  promised  to  go  a  little  later.  The  painter 
dared  not  insist.  He  merely  gave  the  head  surgeon  the 
most  positive  assurances  that  unless  he  compelled  his  nurse 
to  take  more  out-door  exercise  he  would  not  profit  long  by 
her  services.  Dugon  observed  bluntly  that  since  she  had 
had  good  news  from  the  Wad-el-Haluf,  she  was  already 
looking  much  brighter.  The  answer  set  Leyton  dreaming. 
He  sat  down  mournfully  at  Sidi-Malik's  bedside.  The 
bombardment  of  the  oasis  went  on  until  nine  o'clock,  and 


334        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

then  stopped  altogether.  The  reason  for  this  sudden 
silence  had  begun  to  puzzle  everybody,  when  Si-Hamza, 
wholly  unexpected,  entered  the  hospital. 

"I  bring  you  strange  news,"  he  said  to  Leyton,  whom  he 
found  waiting  on  the  stairs.     Where  is  Doctor  Dugon?" 

In  answer,  Leyton  pushed  the  door  and  ushered  him  into 
the  sick-room.  Without  allowing  the  gruff  expression  of 
the  head  surgeon  to  intimidate  him,  the  chieftain  delivered 
himself  of  his  message. 

"Doctor  Dugon,"  he  said,  "it  is  the  Sultan's  wish  that 
your  assistant,  Doctor  Farlede,  reports  immediately  to 
headquarters.  He  will  take  with  him  whatever  surgical 
instruments  and  medical  supplies  you  can  possibly  spare. 
I  trust  you  will  find  this  not  altogether  impossible,  since 
it  will  go,  not  to  our  own  men,  but  to  French  troops.  I 
take  the  greatest  pleasure  in  informing  you,  gentlemen,  that 
a  flag  of  truce  has  been  displayed,  that  an  armistice  has 
been  arranged,  and  that,  in  consideration  of  their  obstinate 
defence,  the  troops  of  the  Wad-el-Haluf  have  been  ad- 
mitted to  capitulation  under  safe  conduct.  They  will  be 
granted  the  honors  of  war.  At  ten  o'clock  to-morrow 
Major  d'Ornano  and  his  men  will  go  forth  with  arms, 
baggage  and  flying  colors. " 

The  words  "  arms,  baggage  and  flying  colors  "  brought 
Leyton  forward,  pale  as  a  ghost.  Si-Hamza,  scarcely  less 
moved  than  himself,  offered  his  hand.  For  a  minute  the 
two  men  clasped  each  other,  so  choked  with  emotion  that 
tears  brightened  the  eyes  of  both.  This  was,  indeed,  a 
triumph  for  their  common  friend.  Twice  had  d'Ornano 
declined  to  surrender  unconditionally.  Twice  had  Abd- 
er-Rhaman  represented  to  him  that  his  holding  the  bastion 


THE   HONORS  OF  WAR  335 

another  week  would  not  materially  improve  French  fort- 
unes. He  might  be  an  annoyance;  he  could  not  be  an 
obstacle;  and  in  a  week,  at  the  most,  he  was  bound  to 
succumb  to  the  need  of  water.  Figuig  was  conquered  so 
completely  that  the  Moslems,  sure  that  the  small  garrison 
would  never  be  able  to  threaten  its  rear,  could  afford  to 
leave  the  bastion  behind  them  and  go  north.  D'Ornano  had 
dared  him  to  try  it.  He  had  undertaken  to  prove  that  he 
was  still  able  to  demoralize  the  Moslem  army,  and  he  had 
succeeded,  earning  for  himself  the  right  of  going  forth  a 
free  man,  with  his  tricolor  flying  and  his  weapons  ready 
for  future  encounters.  Furthermore,  he  would  be  granted 
the  honors  of  war.  He  would  receive  the  homage  of  the 
conqueror  himself.  He  would  lead  his  troops  past  Moslem 
cavalry  with  a  challenge  in  his  eyes  and  in  every  note  of 
his  bugles.  For  him  who  had  maintained  his  ground 
against  odds,  who  had  held  at  bay  troops  a  hundred  times 
more  numerous  than  his  own,  such  results  were  far  more 
satisfactory  than  victory  itself.  And,  indeed,  it  was  not 
surrender  in  disguise!  Useless  in  Figuig,  the  troops  of 
the  Wad-el-Haluf  compelled  the  foe  to  let  them  proceed 
where  they  would  again  ambush  and  fight. 

It  struck  Leyton  that  this  Abd-er-Rhaman  was  a  gentle- 
man, after  all.  Moslem  or  not,  the  man  who,  afflicted 
with  such  lieutenants  as  Bou-Amel,  dared  admit  a  gallant 
enemy  to  honorable  capitulation,  possessed  moral  courage. 
The  descendant  of  the  Prophet  rose  by  this  sole  act  higher 
than  his  ancestors,  grim  fighters  as  they  were.  It  remained 
to  be  seen  whether  he  could  keep  his  word  in  the  face  of 
the  threatened  opposition  of  Bou-Amel. 

Gisele   had   disappeared    at   Si-Hamza's   first   words. 


336        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

Ley  ton  went  in  search  of  her.     He  found  her,  bathed  it 
tears,  in  the  operating-room. 

The  fit  over,  she  accepted  when  he  asked  her  to  go  with 
him  for  a  ride,  and  the  whole  of  their  ramble  she  evinced 
the  most  charming  humor.  At  last  he  had  found  the 
Gisele  of  the  old  days.  Her  originality  of  views  and 
causticity  of  retorts  had  reappeared.  She  was  still  a  little 
pale,  but  no  longer  moody;  in  short,  she  was  again  the 
charming  companion  of  Marakesh.  Perhaps  it  was  not 
without  a  shade  of  bitterness  that  the  painter  reflected  upon 
the  cause  of  the  two  transformations  he  had  witnessed. 
And  the  man  who  had  brought  them  about  would  leave 
Figuig  on  the  morrow!  He  dared  not  ask  her  what  plans 
she  had  formed,  and  on  her  side  she  did  not  once  make  a 
direct  allusion  to  the  Wad-el-Haluf. 

As  he  got  up,  next  morning,  he  was  surprised  by  the 
entrance  of  Sidi-Malik  and  Anoun-Dialo.  The  camel- 
driver  explained  that  he  had  left  the  hospital  like  a  thief, 
because  the  doctor,  despite  his  strenuous  protests  and  re- 
peated affirmations  that  he  could  ride,  insisted  upon  keep- 
ing him  in  bed;  and  he  wanted  to  see  d'Ornano  leave  his 
fort. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  it  was  Muhamed-ben- 
Khadour's  turn  to  present  himself  at  the  door.  The 
Aissaoui  came  to  give  an  account  of  his  mission.  The 
one-eyed  M'zabite  had  been  found.  He  waited  outside. 
Although  he  had  not  been  captured  and  brought  to  El- 
Maiz  Inferior  without  violence  to  his  person,  as  his  torn 
clothing  testified,  Muhamed  now  ushered  him  in  with  all 
the  marks  of  deep  reverence,  and  Sidi-Malik  went  to 
the  length  of  getting  up  from  the  bed  to  invoke  his  blessing. 


THE   HONORS   OF  WAR  337 

3ut  the  baraka  granted,  it  was  in  a  most  matter-of-fact 
yay  that  the  camel-driver  conducted  his  cross-ques- 
tioning. 

The  prisoner  answered  questions  indifferently.  He 
seemed  somewhat  weak-minded.  'Yes,  it  was  in  his  com- 
pany that  Djeilma  had  visited  the  cell  of  Sidi-Malik. 
Where  was  she  now?  ManarfP  This  with  the  charac- 
teristic shrug  of  the  shoulder  suggestive  of  serene  igno- 
rance. 'The  ways  of  Allah  are  unfathomable.  Why 
should  he  know  ?  He  was  an  old  man,  very  weak  and  very 
meskeen/  Leyton  gave  him  a  mitkal  to  enhance  the  poor 
opinion  he  had  of  himself.  '  Blest  be  the  Protector  of  the 
Poor!  Wrould  the  blessing  of  an  old  man  repay  the  gift? 
The  woman  ?  Oh  yes.  Ya  Sidi,  she  was  in  Bou-Amers 
harem/ 

He  admitted  that  eunuch  Mustapha  was  known  to  him, 
and  he  gave  of  the  personage  a  description  tallying  with 
what  Sidi-Malik  knew  of  his  victim.  But  he  protested 
that  his  knowledge  of  what  had  taken  place  in  Bou-Amers 
zenana  did  not  extend  any  further.  At  this  Sidi-Malik 
became  very  angry.  He  ordered  Muhamed  to  search  the 
prisoner  and  see  if  he  did  not  carry  a  tin  cup.  And  when 
the  object  was  found,  he  gravely  asked  Leyton  whether 
a  man  who  had  murdered  a  wounded  soldier  to  possess 
himself  of  his  drinking-vessel  did  not  deserve  to  have  his 
head  cut  off. 

The  M'zabite  began  to  implore,  vehemently  protesting 
that  he  had  stolen  the  cup  from  a  corpse  and  not  from  a 
wounded  man.  Leyton,  convinced  that  he  had  told  all 
he  knew,  was  on  the  point  of  putting  an  end  to  the  cruel 
game,  when  Si-Hamza  made  his  appearance.     Made  ac- 


338        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

quainted  with  the  question  at  issue,  he  stopped  the  pro- 
ceedings and,  drawing  a  paper  from  his  belt,  handed  it  to 
Leyton,  adding  that  he  had  found  it  in  the  holster  of  his 
saddle  when  looking  for  his  revolver.  The  painter  followed 
him  into  the  next  room  where  the  chieftain  translated  the 
message. 

"  By  the  favor  of  God,  and  with  the  help  of  the  woman  who  is 
writing,  Mustapha  is  again  a  grand  eunuch.  This  is  to  remind  thee 
that  he  came  here  almost  naked,  and  that  it  is  only  with  Allah  and 
his  prophet  that  money  has  no  power.  At  present  I  see  no  way  to 
escape;  but  I  am  listening.  Bou-Amel  will  not  be  foiled  of  his  re- 
venge; so  remember  Sidi  d'Ornano  and  be  watchful.  See  whether 
Mustapha  cannot  be  bought.  I  made  him  what  he  is,  and  yet  he 
leaves  me  no  freedom,  knowing  well  that  he  loses  all  the  day  I  suc- 
ceed in  escaping.  Remember  the  bargain  we  made.  Abd-er-Rha- 
man  has  now  a  friend  in  the  very  heart  of  his  foe.  I  send  thee  my 
love  and  I  yearn  for  a  glimpse  of  thy  face,  for  Bou-Amel  is  as  ugly 
as  Sidi-Malik  himself.     How  is  Sidi  Leitoun  ?" 

In  spite  of  his  insistence,  Si-Hamza  refused  to  com- 
municate the  message  to  Sidi-Malik.  The  curiosity  of  the 
camel-driver,  and  his  peevishness  after  refusal,  were  so 
childish  that  they  afforded  great  diversion  to  the  two 
friends.  He  again  swore  that  Dje'ilma  would  have  news 
from  him  before  long,  and,  his  rage  growing  as  he  spoke, 
he  ended  the  performance  by  kicking  the  M'zabite  out- 
of-doors. 

Si-Hamza  went  back  to  headquarters.  Leyton  decided 
also  to  take  a  ride.  For  the  first  time  since  the  Moslem 
troops  had  entered  Figuig,  he  found  the  oasis  quiet  and 
peaceful  in  the  sunlight.  Near  the  canals,  native  khames 
were  working  under  the  palms,  desperately  striving  to 
repair  the  losses  inflicted  by  war.     Village  women  were 


THE   HONORS   OF  WAR  339 

washing  among  the  reeds.  Although  already  hot,  the 
temperature  was  at  that  hour  perfectly  bearable,  and  a 
strong  breeze  blew  from  the  north.  The  exertion  of  riding 
having  reestablished  the  painter's  equilibrium,  the  acute 
mental  activity  of  the  last  few  days  gave  way  to  more 
serene  feelings. 

He  would  not  go  back  to  the  hospital.  Although  Gisele 
had  not  even  alluded  to  her  projects,  he  had  no  doubt  that 
she  would  follow  Assistant-Surgeon  Farlede  and  take  her 
place  as  a  nurse  in  the  rear  of  d'Ornano's  troops.  He  did 
not  intend  to  interfere.  Abd-er-Rhaman  had  treated  him 
as  a  friend.  He  would  remain  with  the  Moslems  to  gather 
material  for  future  work. 

The  thought  that  he  would  have  to  take  leave  of  his 
cousin  in  the  presence  of  the  Corsican  was  somewhat 
bitter.  But  he  brightened  at  the  thought  that  he  could 
instil  enough  coolness  into  his  farewell  to  cause  the  girl  to 
realize  that  she  had  often  treated* him  with  too  little  regard. 
As  for  d'Ornano,  he  would  be  careful  to  create  the  impres- 
sion that  his  refusal  to  follow  the  column  to  the  French 
lines  was  not  dictated  by  any  bitterness,  but  simply  by  the 
desire  of  profiting  by  the  opportunity  of  a  lifetime.  His 
rival  need  not  be  told  why  he  was  tired  of  love-making. 

While  he  busied  himself  with  these  simple  thoughts,  his 
exploration  took  him  past  the  mosque  from  whose  minaret 
he  had  seen  the  Moslems  enter  Figuig.  He  alighted  and 
went  up  the  winding  stairway.  The  bodies  of  the  soldiers 
and  of  the  telephone  operator  had  been  removed  and 
buried.  But  the  apparatus  was  still  there,  broken,  this 
time,  kicked  into  a  corner  as  an  invention  of  the  devil. 
He  looked  at  his  watch.    Half-past  nine.    In  half  an  hour 


340        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE    GREEN  BANNER 

d'Ornano  would  leave  his  bastion  and  begin  his  march 
through  the  Moslem  lines.     It  was  high  time  to  go  back. 

When  he  reached  the  Wad-el-Haluf ,  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
later,  he  found  the  whole  of  the  river-bed  lined,  for  more 
than  three  miles,  with  Moslem  troops.  Abd-er-Rhaman 
had  done  things  in  an  imperial  way.  As  he  passed  in  front 
of  these  contingents,  the  painter  figured  that  there  were 
forty  thousand  cavalry  in  the  canyon,  in  ranks  eight  deep, 
all  motionless  behind  their  crescent-surmounted  red  and 
green  standards. 

Passing  under  the  bastion,  he  looked  up;  but  he  saw 
no  signs  of  activity.  Ten  minutes  yet  would  elapse  before 
the  actual  evacuation,  and  d'Ornano  could  be  trusted  not 
to  leave  a  minute  too  soon.  Inquiring  where  he  would 
find  Abd-er-Rhaman,  he  was  told  by  an  elderly  khaid  in 
gorgeous  garb  that  the  Sultan,  surrounded  by  all  his 
bashaghas,  waited  higher  up,  in  the  midst  of  the  Ouled- 
Sidi-Sheiks.  He  went  at  a  slow  gait  in  the  direction 
pointed  out,  taking  note  of  the  bearing  and  behavior  of 
these  centaurs  under  harness.  There  was  only  cavalry 
there.  As  he  expected,  Bou-Amers  Saharans  had  not 
been  drawn  upon;  but,  to  his  extreme  surprise,  he  found 
the  old  Maddhi  at  Abd-er-Rhaman's  side,  in  front  of  the 
bashaghas. 

Facing  the  Sultan,  he  made  a  military  salute  and  spurred 
his  horse  with  the  intention  of  taking  his  place  higher  up. 
He  was  overtaken  by  Si-Hamza.  The  young  man  left 
the  ranks  at  a  command  from  his  chief  and  galloped  after 
his  friend  to  extend  him  a  special  invitation  to  take  place 
among  the  sheikhs.  Leyton  turned  back.  Somewhat 
nervously,  he  thanked  the  Sultan,  who  expressed  with  a 


THE   HONORS   OF  WAR  341 

smile  his  desire  to  keep  one  of  his  kidnappers  at  his  side 
while  the  other  passed  by,  and  he  entered  the  ranks  at  Si- 
Hamza's  right  hand,  haughtily  returning  the  stare  of  Bou- 
Amel,  who  kept  his  only  eye  riveted  on  him  with  malignant 
curiosity. 

He  did  not  have  to  wait  long.  Up  the  canyon,  the  clear 
notes  of  a  bugle  made  themselves  heard,  and  something 
appeared  at  the  very  place  where  so  many  of  Bou-Amel's 
men  had  found  death  under  the  crumbling  rocks.  Boiling 
impatience  took  hold  of  him.  Forgetting  Gisele,  forgetting 
a  multitude  of  little  facts  from  which  he  had  suffered  in  the 
course  of  the  last  week,  he  thought  only  of  the  gesture  he 
would  make  with  his  yatagan  when  d'Ornano's  tricolor 
would  pass  him.  After  all,  this  tricolor  was  a  little  his  own 
flag,  something  that  perhaps  already  floated  in  the  dreams 
of  its  maker,  Lafayette,  when  the  fleur-de-lys  of  monarchical 
France  arose  alongside  Washington's  standards.  He 
waited.  The  blot  at  the  entrance  of  the  canyon  spread 
into  a  line.  Bugles  and  drums  sounded  nearer.  Now, 
as  the  day  he  had  followed  Si-Hamza  into  Figuig,  the  two 
persons  who  made  up  his  individuality  were  at  odds.  What 
a  fool  that  emotional  Ley  ton  was,  to  be  sure!  This  was 
neither  his  land  nor  his  people,  and  yet  he  partook  of  the 
soul-filling  emotion  flushing  the  faces  of  the  coming  Legion- 
aries. The  more  rational  of  the  two  personalities  wondered 
a  minute  if  d'Ornano's  triumph  was  not  also  partly  his 
own;  if  heroism  is  not  the  commqn  property  of  mankind; 
if  he,  who  elevates  himself,  does  not  add  to  the  value  of 
humanity  as  a  whole,  improving  the  race  by  setting  a  new 
standard.  In  the  still  atmosphere  he  could  hear  every 
note  of  the  glad  challenge  voiced  by  the  bugles.     They 


342        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

were  coming  nearer.  Funny  how  military  music  can  affect 
the  nerves!  The  painter  could  now  distinguish  the  uni- 
forms of  the  Legion  from  those  of  Turcos,  Bataillons 
d'Afrique  and  Colonial  Infantry.  A  red  burnous  caught 
his  eye.  This  was  the  quartermaster-sergeant  of  spahis 
whose  flight  he  had  watched  from  the  oasis.  Thank  God ! 
He  had  not  died  of  his  wound!  Both  Leytons  were  now 
perfectly  foolish.  A  lump  was  now  slowly  coming  up  their 
common  throat  and  their  sight  was  blurred  with  tears. 

Soldiers  they!  Why  is  it  that  Gordon  Highlanders, 
Algerine  Turcos  or  Afghan  Ghazis,  tramping  behind  their 
colors,  will  upset  the  vase  of  emotion  ?  The  painter  swore 
that  he  would  not  look  again  until  they  were  so  near  that 
he  could  distinguish  faces.  He  turned  his  head  towards 
Beni-Ounif .  He  knew  well  that,  at  the  head  of  his  column, 
d'Ornano  was  saluting  in  turn  all  the  Moslem  standards. 
The  shiver  of  shining  steel,  raised  to  the  eyes'  level  by  one 
contingent  after  the  other,  became  more  distinct  every 
minute.  A  nerve-racking  rattle  of  cymbals  followed  the 
snap  of  guttural  commands  uttered  by  Moslem  com- 
manders. They  were  now  so  near  that  he  felt  the  tremor 
of  the  ground.  An  order  from  Abd-er-Rhaman  exploded 
in  the  stillness.  The  keen  blades  left  the  scabbards.  His 
fingers  clenched  around  the  hilt  of  his  yatagan,  Leyton 
turned  his  head  and  looked  straight  in  front  of  him. 

The  Foreign  Legion  was  drawing  abreast.  A  lieutenant, 
a  sergeant  and  a  guide  headed  the  march.  Bugles  and 
drums  were  now  silent.  More  impressive  than  music 
came  the  regular  tramping  of  footfalls.  The  first  section 
passed  by,  arms  on  the  shoulders,  without  even  the  turning 
of  a  head.     Leyton  was  wondering  if,  after  all,  there  would 


THE   HONORS   OF  WAR  343 

be  no  salute,  when  cTOrnano  himself  entered  the  sector  of 
his  vision.  The  Corsican  commander,  his  eye  on  the 
Sultan  was  calculating  the  distance.  He  slowly  lifted 
the  hand  that  held  the  sword : 

"Halter 

Crisper  commands  exploded  behind.  One  after  the 
other  the  different  troops  came  to  a  dead  stop.  D'Or- 
nano  spoke  again: 

"Par  le  flanc  gauche.  .  .  .  Gauche!" 

This  was  taken  up  by  the  subalterns.  The  whole  troop 
instantly  faced  Abd-er-Rhaman.  The  Corsican  snapped 
in  quick  succession: 

"Portez  .  .  .  armes! 

"Presentez  .  .  .  armes! 

"Audrapeau!" 

Bugles  and  drums  took  up  the  tune  of  the  colors.  At  a 
command  from  their  chief,  Abd-er-Rhaman's  bashaghas 
raised  the  hilt  of  their  yatagans  to  the  nose.  So  long  as 
drums  and  bugles  kept  up  the  tune,  d'Ornano  and  the  Sultan 
faced  each  other,  both  motionless  and  silent,  each  looking 
straight  into  the  other's  eyes.     The  Corsican  spoke  again: 

"Portez  .  .  .  armes! 

"  Armes  sur  V epaule  .  .  .  droite!" 

It  was  over.  In  the  silent  salute  accomplished  with  the 
sword,  the  two  foes  had  acknowledged  each  other's  valor, 
exchanged  defiance  and  sworn  to  meet  again.  Nothing 
remained  now  but  for  d'Ornano  to  resume  his  march  and 
pass  on.  However,  before  he  had  time  to  issue  the  neces- 
sary command,  Bou-Amel  left  the  Sultan's  side.  The 
bewildered  Leyton  caught  sight  of  him  as  he  stepped  in 
front  of  his  chief. 


•344        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

"Mind,  Franzawi  dog,  that  Bou-Amel  is  still  alive," 
he  roared,  his  clenched  fist  threatening  the  French  com- 
mander. "I  am  not  tied  by  promises,  Bismillah!  And, 
if  it  pleases  God,  thou  shalt  not  progress  very  far." 

Then  an  incredible  thing  came  to  pass.  Abd-er-Rha- 
man's  horse  leapt  from  his  place,  colliding  with  Bou- 
Amers  mount.  No  doubt  the  clash  had  been  calculated 
with  a  view  to  its  result,  for  the  Saharan  chieftain  lost  his 
balance  and  rolled  in  the  dust  at  d'Ornano's  feet.  What 
struck  Leyton  at  this  moment  as  the  most  wonderful  part 
of  the  performance  was  that  neither  the  Corsican  nor  his 
troop  betrayed  the  slightest  sign  of  surprise  or  flustration. 
Not  a  man  as  much  as  winced  in  the  French  ranks.  But 
while  they  retained  over  themselves  the  control  born  of 
discipline,  on  the  Moslem  side  every  bashagha  left  his 
place.  Before  Bou-Amel  had  time  to  regain  his  footing, 
ten  yatagans  whistled  above  his  head,  one  of  them  slashing 
his  burnous. 

It  was  not  Abd-er-Rhaman  who  saved  his  life,  but  Si- 
Hamza.  Indeed,  the  Sultan,  his  eyes  flashing  with  unre- 
strained fury,  had  already  raised  his  sabre.  The  execution 
would  have  taken  place  there  and  then  had  not  the  young 
chief  of  the  Ouled-Sidi-Sheiks  thrown  himself  in  the 
thick  of  the  scrimmage  and  protected  the  Maddhi  with 
his  burnous.  He  pushed  the  others  back  and  shouted: 
"Barca!     Barca!  .  .  .  That's  enough." 

The  bashaghas  fell  back.  Perhaps  they  were  afraid 
of  striking  the  wrong  man;  perhaps,  aware  of  the  rivalry 
existing  between  protector  and  protege",  they  were  curious 
to  learn  the  reasons  of  Si-Hamza's  interference.  They 
made  room.    They  had  hardly  done  so  when  the  chieftain, 


THE   HONORS  OF  WAR  345 

raising  his  hand,  cut  the  Maddhi  across  the  face  with  his 
riding-whip. 

"Mind,"  he  said,  pointing  to  d'Ornano,  "that  I  am  Si- 
Hamza,  and  that  my  territory  now  extends  from  Figuig  to 
the  country  of  the  Beni-Matar.  Twenty  thousand  Ouled- 
Sidi-Sheiks  protect  that  man;  all  good  fighters.  Whoever 
shall  pluck  a  hair  from  his  head  shall  drag  at  my  horsed 
tail  all  the  way  from  here  to  Shott-el-Shergui,  I  swear  by 
the  beard  of  my  father!" 

He  looked  at  d'Ornano,  who  returned  his  smile,  bowing 
also  to  Leyton.  But  this  was  all  the  Corsican's  acknowl- 
edgment of  the  obligation.  He  turned  his  attention  to 
his  men. 

"Pour  defiler,"  he  commanded.  "Par  files  de  quatre,  a 
droite,  en  avant.  .  .  .  Marche!" 

Instantly  bugles  and  drums  took  up  the  defiant  tune  of 
"Pan,  pan,  Parbi."  The  buglers  were  blowing  themselves 
purple  in  the  triumphant  challenge.  Try  as  he  might, 
Leyton  could  not  see  those  who  came  behind.  In  vain 
did  he  search  the  French  ranks  for  Gisele.  The  military 
music  kept  up  ringing  in  his  ears  and  his  eyes  were  blurred 
with  tears.  Fainter  and  fainter  sounded  the  air  dear  to 
African  infantry: 

Pan,  pan,  l'arbi. 

Les  chacals  sont  par  ici. 

lis  sont  la,  pres  du  pont. 

lis  vont  boulotter  tes  moutons 

Pan,  pan,  l'arbi. 
Les  chacals  sont  par  ici. 
Les  chacals  et  les  vitriers 
N'ont  jamais  laisse" 
Les  colons  nu-pieds. 


346        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

All  had  passed,  when  he  heard,  in  the  blue  distance  of 
the  waterless  canyon,  a  choir  of  human  voices  taking  up 
a  tune.  This  was  the  war  song  of  the  Foreign  Legion,  the 
prean  of  the  heroic  disinherited,  Poles,  Alsatians,  Germans, 
Irish,  God  knows  what,  to  whom  the  French  tricolor  had 
given  something  to  fight  for.  And  their  banner  was  the 
only  one  in  the  French  army  where  the  motto  "For  honor" 
had  taken  the  place  of  "For  the  Fatherland."  At  the 
thought  that  never  in  history  this  so-called  scum  of 
twenty  civilizations  had  held  their  honor  to  be  below  the 
sublime,  the  words  of  their  sursum  corda  came  to  his 
trembling  lips: 

Soldats  de  la  Legion, 

De  la  Legion  Etrangere, 

N'ayant  pas  de  nation, 

La  France  est  votre  mere.  .  .  . 

It  was  too  much!  Overwhelmed  by  the  mad  desire  to 
kiss  d'Ornano,  to  kiss  them  all,  to  sob,  if  sobbing  could 
relieve  this  atrocious  pain  in  the  throat,  he  spurred  his 
horse  and  was  gone,  raising,  as  he  galloped  after  the 
French  column,  a  shower  of  stones  and  dust. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE   ENIGMATICAL   CAFARD 

The  sight  which  met  Leyton's  eyes  as  he  left  the  canyon 
compelled  him  to  slacken  his  speed.  It  was  Gisele  on  a 
refractory  Spanish  mule,  her  feet  in  a  basket,  one  hand 
holding  the  pommel  of  the  pack-saddle,  the  other  prevent- 
ing her  jars  of  quinine  and  sterilized  gauze  from  colliding 
with  a  heavy  marble  mortar.  Strong  as  he  was,  Anoun- 
Dialo  was  no  match  for  the  mule;  and  for  all  his  pull- 
ing he  was  losing  ground.  Gisele,  in  danger  of  an  instant 
catastrophe,  was  screaming.  As  the  baskets  on  which  she 
sat  were  full  of  jars  and  bottles  containing  pharmaceutical 
supplies,  the  results  of  a  fall  were  easy  to  foresee;  and  it 
seemed  certain  that,  if  the  struggle  was  protracted,  the  an- 
imal would  end  by  sitting  down  in  a  pool  of  muddy  water. 

The  American  hurried  to  the  rescue.  His  first  care 
was  to  point  out  to  the  Senegalese  that  a  mule  should  be 
pulled,  not  by  the  mouth,  but  by  the  tail,  with  due  con- 
sideration for  his  feelings.  Anoun-Dialo  had  no  sooner 
changed  his  tactics  than  the  mule  started  forward,  spilling 
the  negro,  who  wisely  chose  to  bite  the  dust  rather  than 
receive  a  kick.  He  perspired  abundantly,  and  arose  so 
covered  with  sand  that  he  was  almost  white.  Leyton  suc- 
ceeded in  catching  the  animal  by  the  nose. 

Now  that  the  scare  was  over,  Gisele  was  disposed  to 

laugh  over  the  adventure.    She  wore  a  brand-new  uniform. 

347 


348        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

In  the  white  apron  and  the  low-necked  shirt-waist  of  blue 
gingham,  the  red  cross  of  Geneva  on  the  right  arm,  in 
short  sleeves,  she  looked  like  a  milkmaid  of  the  "Noces 
de  Jeanette"  or  the  "Cloches  de  Corneville."  Ley  ton 
thought  her  so  charming  that  he  asked  permission  to  ride 
with  her.  This  was  granted,  the  young  woman  adding, 
with  a  look  of  merriment  which  shore  the  remark  of  its 
causticity,  that  it  was  not  for  the  sake  of  company,  but 
because  the  mule  seemed  to  follow  a  horse  more  willingly 
than  he  led. 

Ley  ton's  only  retort  was  a  compliment  on  her  appearance. 
She  cut  it  short  by  requesting  him  to  go  a  little  faster, 
adding  that  otherwise  she  would  never  catch  up  with  the 
column.     The  American  put  his  horse  at  a  canter. 

Wiping  his  face  with  his  sleeve,  Anoun-Dialo  trotted 
behind  the  mule,  just  out  of  reach  of  a  kick.  Once,  by 
dealing  the  animal  a  sound  blow  with  his  matrack,  he 
attempted  to  avenge  the  humiliation  of  his  fall;  and  no 
doubt  he  would  have  repeated  the  performance  at  regular 
intervals,  had  not  Gisele,  almost  dismounted  by  the  sudden 
start  of  the  surprised  animal,  positively  forbidden  him  to 
renew  the  attack.  It  was  already  quite  enough,  she 
averred,  that  she  should  have  to  submit  to  the  hard  trot 
of  the  animal  in  so  insecure  a  position. 

His  feelings  wounded,  the  Senegalese  began  to  lag  be- 
hind and  soon  dropped  out  of  sight.  The  painter  and 
the  young  woman  went  on  for  twenty  minutes.  At  the 
end  of  the  first  hour's  march,  the  column  made  a  ten 
minutes'  stop  in  Beni-Ounif.  They  came  abreast  of  the 
rear-guard  just  as  it  was  leaving  the  oasis  to  file  onto  the  rail- 
road track  they  were  to  follow  on  their  march  northward. 


THE  ENIGMATICAL  CAFARD  349 

Thev  were  Joveux  * — members  of  the  Bataillon  d'ln- 
fanterie  Ldgere  d'Afrique  who  had  held  the  bastion  of 
Djebel-Zenaga  until  d'Ornano  had  come  to  their  rescue. 
They  were  singing,  this  time  with  the  permission  of  their 
chiefs,  the  defiant  song  of  their  corps: 

Et  quand  il  faut  servir  cett'bon  Dieu  d'Re*publique 
Ou  qu'tout  l'monde  est  soldat  malgre"  son  consent'ment 
On  nous  envoi  'grossir  les  Bataillons  d'Afrique 
A  cause  que  les  Joyeux  z'aiment  pas  l'gouvernement. 

C'est  nous  les  Joyeux 

Les  petits  Joyeux 
Les  p'tits  marlous  Joyeux  qui  n'ont  pas  froid  aux  yeux. 

In  front  of  them  came  the  caravan  of  camels,  donkeys 
and  Spanish  mules  which  carried  the  wounded,  the  am- 
munition and  the  food  supply.  All  these  animals,  with 
the  artillery  horses,  had  been  furnished  by  Abd-er-Rhaman, 
in  accordance  with  the  articles  of  capitulation. 

As  they  hurried  forward,  Gisele  and  the  painter  were 
joined  by  Farlede  and  Sidi-Malik.  Leyton  engaged  in  a 
conversation  with  the  young  surgeon.  Meantime,  Gisele 
struck  a  bargain  with  the  camel-driver.  The  upshot  of 
it  was  that  she  dismounted  from  her  mule  and  took  Sidi- 
Malik's  horse.  She  was  in  the  saddle  so  quickly  that 
Leyton  had  barely  time  to  shake  Farlede's  hand  and  spur 
his  own  mount.  She  flew  past  him  like  an  arrow.  But 
presently,  seeing  that  it  was  his  intention  to  follow,  she 
waited  for  him. 

*  The  Joyeux  are  a  body  of  troops  whose  members  have  been 
convicted  for  petty  larceny,  assault  and  battery,  etc.,  before  joining 
the  colors.  Discipline  is  extremely  severe  in  the  Bat-d'Af,  so- 
called  by  abbreviation. 


350        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

The  painter  noticed  that  she  was  frowning.  But  the 
cloud  was  of  such  short  duration  that  it  failed  to  convey 
to  him  her  desire  to  be  left  alone.  As  he  thought  only  of 
the  short  time  he  had  to  spend  with  her  before  going  back 
to  Figuig,  it  did  not  occur  to  him  that  her  look  of  annoyance 
referred  to  d'Ornano  and  meant  as  plain  as  words:  "Two 
is  company;  three  is  a  crowd."  Side  by  side,  they  passed 
the  convoy  and  the  hospital  corps,  finally  reaching  the 
artillery.  These  men  were  also  singing.  In  front  of  them, 
Colonial  Infantry — marsouins,  in  military  slang — having 
heartily  joined  in  the  war  song  of  the  Legionaries,  and 
knowing  full  well  that  when  the  twenty-four  stanzas  would 
be  exhausted  their  turn  would  come,  now  struck  up  the 
tune  in  honor  of  the  gunners.  The  realization  of  their 
ambitions  would  take  some  time,  as  the  song  was  only  at 
its  beginning. 

Si  vous  voulez  jouir  des  plaisirs  de  la  vie, 
Engagez  vous  ici,  dedans  (sic)  Tartillerie. 
Quand  l'artilleur  de  Metz  change  de  garnison, 
Toutes  les  femmes  de  Metz  se  mettent  au  balcon. 

Artilleur,  mon  vieux  frere, 

A  ta  sante  vidons  nos  verres; 

Et  repetons  ce  gai  refrain: 
Vivent  les  artilleurs;  a  bas  les  fantassins. 

The  last  verse,  it  must  be  said,  being  contemptuous  of 
foot  soldiers,  was  sung  by  gunners  alone,  the  Foreign 
Legion  changing  it  to  "  Vivent  les  artilleurs,  l' absinthe  et  le 
bon  vin"  and  Colonial  Infantry  to  "  Vivent  les  artilleurs,  la 
Jemme  et  les  marsouins."  All  were  equally  bad  rhymes; 
but,  in  all  lands,  barrack  poetry  prides  itself  more  on  its 
spontaneous  sprightliness   than  on  chastened    language; 


THE  ENIGMATICAL  CAFARD  351 

barrack  songs,  as  a  rule,  being  calculated  to  bring  the 
flush  of  shame  on  the  emaciated  brows  of  dead  Messalina 
and  dead  Thais. 

The  Second  Company  of  the  Third  Tirailleurs,  natives, 
joined  in  the  song  with  disastrous  results.  It  cannot  be  said 
that  the  two  companies  of  the  Foreign  Legion,  ahead  of 
them,  were  doing  much  better.  There  were  among  them  too 
many  foreigners  whose  knowledge  of  French  was  so  limited 
that  they  could  barely  understand  the  military  commands. 
Still,  the  Frenchmen  among  them  succeeded  in  making 
themselves  heard;  and  the  Germans  were,  as  a  rule,  too 
great  lovers  of  music  to  take  with  the  measure  the  liberties 
their  swarthier  brothers  indulged  in.  No  doubt  they  would 
have  preferred  their  own  wild  "  Youpa'idi,  youpa'ida" ;  but 
they  were  good-natured.  They  must  be,  since  one  of  their 
favorite  songs  was  the  famous  anti-German  ragtime: 
"  Vous  avez  pris  V Alsace  et  la  Lorraine;  mais,  malgre  vous 
nous  resterons  Francais" 

The  singing  subsided  as  soon  as  Gisele  was  sighted. 
The  men  who,  three  weeks  before,  had  met  d'Ornano  and 
the  young  woman  in  the  gorges  of  the  Zousfana,  had 
recognized  her.  As  d'Ornano  was  nowhere  to  be  seen, 
Leyton  addressed  himself  to  one  of  the  men.  He  chanced 
to  fall  upon  Corporal  O'Hara.  He  had  spoken  in  French; 
but  the  Irishman  immediately  answered  in  English: 

"  Be  you  that  American  man,  cousin  of  this  here  young 
lady?"  he  inquired.  "The  tip  of  the  morning  to  you. 
Eh,  Larry,  where  is  he?" 

"Where  is  who?"  grunted  the  stolid  Larry  at  his  side. 

"  Our  man.  Who  could  I  mean  but  the  man  that  nigger 
of  a  camel-driver — Sidi-Malik  they  call  him — licked  all  over, 


352        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

from  bit  to  hind  hoof,  and  nicknamed  'Sword  of  the 
French*  this  fine  morning?" 

"If  it  is  the  Major  you  mean,  and  not  his  horse,  he  went 
to  reconnoitre  with  the  vanguard.  The  Captain  of  them 
Colonial  Infantry,  and  Capo  di  Borgo  is  with  him." 

"You  have  heard,  sir?"  resumed  O'Hara,  addressing 
Leyton  with  a  wink.  "  He  will  be  back  in  a  minute.  If 
it  is  that  you  are  after  waiting  for  him,  you  and  the  young 
lady,  I'm  liking  to  ask  you  a  question,  sir." 

"Two,  if  you  want,"  said  the  painter,  exchanging  a  look 
of  merriment  with  his  companion.     "What  is  it?" 

"What's  the  price  of  tobacco  in  these  parts?" 

Exploding,  Leyton  hurriedly  searched  his  belt  for  his 
pouch.  "Tobacco?"  he  replied.  "Here  is  the  whole  of 
my  supply.  You  are  welcome.  Keep  it,  by  all  means,  and 
share  it  with  your  comrades.  I  am  only  sorry  I  did  not 
bring  more  of  it." 

"And  thank  you,  sir.     Here's  the  Major  coming." 

The  Irishman  pointed  ahead  with  a  lighted  match.  As 
the  painter  and  his  companion  went  on  to  meet  their  friend, 
one  of  the  by-standers,  undoubtedly  a  Parisian,  caught 
Gisele's  eye,  smiled  and  immediately  began  to  sing. 
Leyton  was  unable  to  determine  whether  it  was  in  honor 
of  the  tobacco  or  in  a  spirit  of  mockery  that  he  struck  up  a 
tune  which  the  whole  column,  their  eyes  fixed  on  the 
young  woman,  took  up  after  him : 

Mad'moiselle,  voulez  vous  du  tabac? 

Monsieur,  je  n'en  use, 

Monsieur,  je  n'en  use, 
Mad'moiselle,  voulez  vous  du  tabac? 

Monsieur,  je  n'en  use. 
Pas. 


THE   ENIGMATICAL  CAFARD  353 

When  they  caught  up  with  the  party,  Gisele's  cheeks 
were  aflame.  Captain  Jarchin  and  Lieutenant  Capo  di 
Borgo,  partaking  of  the  general  spirit  of  fun,  were  laughing. 
Di  Borgo  went  to  the  length  of  producing  his  cigarette-case 
and  proffering  it  first  to  the  young  woman.  She  declined 
indignantly.  A  glance  at  d'Ornano  had  been  sufficient 
to  tell  her  that  the  Corsican  was  displeased.  He  was 
frowning  and  biting  his  lip.  However,  he  smiled  when 
he  took  the  hand  the  painter  extended  him. 

"So  you  come  back  to  duty,  you  deserter,"  he  said 
cheerfully  enough.  "  I  thought  you  had  turned  bashagha 
in  the  Sultan's  retinue.  In  a  way,  I  am  glad  of  it;  you  had 
a  good  place  to  see  the  fun.  Lord,  but  that  cut  across  the 
face  given  Bou-Amel  by  Si-Hamza  did  my  heart  good! 
I  wish  I  could  tell  the  young  fellow.  He  will  not  come,  of 
course.  He  believes  that  I  cannot  give  him  the  hand  now 
that  he  has  changed  sides.  How  is  it  that  you  are  the  last 
to  turn  up,  Ley  ton  ?  The  rascally  Sidi-Malik  left  a  bed  of 
sickness  to  come  and  hail  me  ' Sword  of  the  French';  so 
that  I  am  the  joke  of  the  whole  column.  He  was  bawling 
so  loudly  that  I  had  to  threaten  him  with  a  spanking. 
As  I  am  kissing  everybody,  I  kissed  him  too.  I  had  to  do 
it.  I  believe  that  if  I  hadn't  raised  him  to  my  saddle  the 
fellow  would  have  kissed  my  boots." 

He  turned  to  Gisele.  She  was  purple  with  embarrass- 
ment, and  each  one  of  his  words  had  entered  her  heart. 
It  was  true  that  she  was  the  last  to  come,  and  everything 
conspired  against  her.  While  she  had  intended  to  meet 
him  alone,  she  had  been  joined  by  her  cousin.  The 
painter's  gift  of  his  tobacco  had  resulted  in  drawing  upon 
her  the  curiosity  of  all;  and  she  had  seen  in  many  eyes  the 


354   IN  THE  WAKE  OF  THE  GREEN  BANNER 

amused  familiarity  with  which  a  public,  a  French  public 
especially,  regards  a  couple  of  lovers.  There  is  contagion 
in  such  an  atmosphere.  She  realized  that  d'Ornano, 
aware  of  the  feelings  the  painter  entertained  towards  her, 
might  suspect  her  of  having  gone  back  to  an  old  flirtation. 
Yet  the  presence  of  strangers  forbade  her  to  dispel  the 
misunderstanding.  Her  dismay  was  such  that  she  was 
unable  to  speak.  And  all  the  time  she  was  aware  that, 
with  true  Corsican  hypersensitiveness,  d'Ornano  would 
believe  himself  slighted  if  she  did  not  find  a  word  to  praise 
the  defence  of  the  Wad-el-Haluf. 

Captain  Jarchin  completed  her  confusion  by  remarking 
with  ineffable  lack  of  tact: 

"Mile,  de  Diolie  must  feel  greatly  relieved  now  that,  by 
the  release  of  her  cousin,  she  has  again  found  a  protector." 

It  seemed  to  Gisele  that  under  her  eyes  d'Ornano  turned 
to  stone.  But  he  spoke  very  quietly,  as  if  he  meant  only  a 
compliment. 

"And  I  don't  know  but  that  Mile,  de  Diolie  will  find 
the  company  of  an  artist  an  invaluable  boon  in  our  midst," 
he  said.  "With  her  literary  leanings,  she  may  find  much 
to  study  in  a  camp,  but  little  congenial  conversation.  The 
opportunities  to  talk  transcendental  psychology  are  scarce 
hereabout." 

If  Gisele  was  conscious  of  having  been  awkward  in 
allowing  herself  to  become  the  victim  of  circumstances,  she 
was  at  least  certain  that  her  behavior  did  not  deserve  a 
sarcasm.  D'Ornano's  veiled  irony  served  also  to  conceal 
an  injustice.  She  had  given  little  thought  to  transcendental 
psychology  in  the  course  of  the  two  weeks  she  had  spent  in 
the  hospital.     And  she  could  not  admit  that  on  so  slight  a 


THE   ENIGMATICAL  CAFARD  355 

provocation — it  was  little  more,  after  all,  than  the  provoca- 
tion of  silence — the  Corsican  should  show  himself  jealous 
and  spiteful. 

"It  is  scarcely  possible  that  I  shall  need  a  protector," 
she  replied  with  the  same  airiness  he  had  himself  used; 
"and  George  has  too  much  of  a  tendency  to  believe  that 
William  Shakespeare  has  made  a  corner  in  psychology  to 
be  counted  as  a  philosopher.  Nevertheless,  he  possesses 
three  qualities  that  I  love:  fair-mindedness,  good-nature 
and  an  almost  absolute  forgetfulness  of  self.  Don't  you 
think  this  is  enough  to  render  him  interesting?" 

If  Jarchin  and  Capo  di  Borgo  were  the  dupes  of  the 
comedy,  not  so  with  Leyton,  whom  frequent  encounters 
of  this  kind  had  taught  the  difficult  art  of  reading  the 
moods  of  his  cousin.  He  was  well  aware  that  the  few 
words  just  spoken  contained  a  challenge.  Yet  he  re- 
mained in  total  darkness  concerning  the  cause  of  the  quar- 
rel. D'Ornano's  words  appeared  to  him  so  innocent,  their 
irony  was  so  mild,  that  he  could  not  admit  that  it  was  he 
who  had  been  first  in  taking  up  the  cudgels.  A  hundred 
little  things  noticed  by  the  young  woman  had  escaped  his 
more  superficial  observation.  He  had  come  with  the 
expectation  that  his  friend  and  his  cousin  would  betray 
with  the  first  glance  the  relation  he  supposed  existed  be- 
tween them.  He  could  not,  therefore,  but  be  bewildered 
when,  instead  of  the  quiet  smile  of  happiness  he  had  almost 
feared  to  witness,  he  heard  Gisele  praise  him  for  character- 
istics which  she  evidently  implied  d'Ornano  lacked. 

His  gratification  was  so  evident  that  Gisele,  who  watched 
him  from  the  corner  of  her  eye,  decided  instantly  that  he 
should  pay  for  it.     Her  irritation  claimed  a  victim.     Since 


356        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

the  painter  had  been  the  instrument  which  had  served  to 
arouse  d'Ornano's  jealousy,  and  since  it  was  partly  his 
fault  that  she  had  been  humiliated,  it  was  only  right  that  he 
should  now  serve  to  make  d'Ornano  suffer  in  his  turn  and 
cure  him  of  his  distrust.  It  might  also  teach  the  Corsican 
the  true  value  of  his  love,  and  infuse  into  him  the  courage 
to  break  a  silence  which  had  become  ridiculous. 

All  this  was  decided  with  the  heartlessness  peculiar  to 
the  better  half  of  mankind.  Only  a  week  ago,  Gisele  had 
been  filled  with  pity,  almost  with  remorse,  at  the  thought 
that  Leyton  would  suffer  by  the  knowledge  that  d'Ornano 
had  won  in  the  contest.  Now  she  was  ready  to  use  him 
again  to  her  ends  regardless  of  the  suffering  he  might 
undergo  in  the  process.  As  he  accompanied  her  to  the 
rear  of  the  column,  the  American  was  far  from  suspecting 
that  he  was  just  about  to  become  a  mere  piece  in  a  game 
of  chess.  It  appeared  from  what  he  had  heard  that  his 
cousin  attached  some  value  to  his  company.  He  meant 
to  ascertain  to  what  extent  she  needed  his  friendship. 
They  had  now  reached  the  rear  of  the  convoy.  Seeing 
Sidi-Malik  hurrying  in  their  direction,  Gisele  checked  her 
horse.  Leyton  chose  the  moment  when,  raised  on  the 
stirrup,  she  prepared  to  dismount,  to  issue  his  proclama- 
tion of  independence. 

"My  dear,"  he  said,  "I  am  sorry  to  leave  you;  but  the 
time  has  come  to  say  good-by." 

She  lifted  upon  him  a  pair  of  blue  eyes  wide  with  sur- 
prise. 

"Good-by!  Why?  .  .  .  What's  the  matter?  Where 
are  you  going?" 

"  Back  to  Figuig,  of  course.     The  reason  why  I  did  not 


THE  ENIGMATICAL  CAFARD  357 

speak  earlier  of  the  plan  I  have  formed  to  follow  future 
operations  and  try  to  paint  on  the  spot  something  worth 
while,  is  that  I  was  myself  unaware  of  your  intention  to 
follow  the  column.  Si-Hamza  has  my  promise  to  stay  and 
Abd-er-Rhaman  is  still  waiting  for  the  study  he  asked  for." 

Here  also  the  reproach  was  apparent.  But  it  was  pre- 
cisely the  taunt  she  felt  in  his  words  which  reminded  the 
young  woman  that  she  had  a  battle  to  win. 

"I  do  not  understand,  George,"  she  said.  "This  is 
rather  sudden,  isn't  it  ?  Surely,  even  if  you  were  not  told 
— I  forget  many  things  nowadays — you  must  have  guessed 
that  I  would  sometime  depart  for  the  coast.  Why  should 
I  remain  in  Figuig  any  longer  than  necessary?  I  was 
bound  to  wait  for  you  to  take  me  home.     But  you  are  free." 

"Free,"  he  said,  astounded.     "What  do  you  mean ?" 

"I  mean  that  it  is  not  right!  Surely,  after  I  waited  for 
you  three  weeks  in  the  hospital,  you  can't  refuse  to  take 
me  home.  If  I  had  known,  I  would  have  taken  the  train 
for  Oran,  as  General  Pluvigne*  advised,  the  day  I  reached 
the  oasis." 

The  morning  had  been  fertile  in  surprises ;  but  Ley  ton's 
amazement  knew  no  bounds  when  he  noticed  that  the  eyes 
of  his  companion  were  bright  with  coming  tears.  Mar- 
vellous psychology  of  woman!  In  perfect  good  faith, 
Gisele  now  believed  herself  abused.  Upon  the  humiliation 
she  had  suffered  in  her  meeting  with  d'Ornano  followed 
this  deception :  her  cousin  claimed  his  freedom.  No  doubt, 
she  thought  that  she  had  actually  waited  for  him.  She 
had  said  so  to  General  Pluvigne*;  then  there  must  be  some 
truth  in  the  matter.  What  could  the  painter  do  in  the 
face  of  this  attitude  ?     If  it  was  true  that  the  young  woman 


358        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

really  felt  the  need  of  somebody  to  take  her  home,  he 
would  accompany  her  to  Paris  and  return  in  two  weeks. 
If,  on  the  other  hand,  he  had  mistaken  the  depth  and  the 
nature  of  her  interest  in  his  rival,  it  were  better  for  him  to 
remain  where  perhaps  there  was  a  chance  to  recapture  the 
position  his  absence  had  lost  him. 

Plainly,  Gisele  had  expected  that  d'Ornano  would  repent 
of  his  surliness,  and  would  make  a  visit  to  the  wounded  the 
pretext  to  effect  a  reconciliation.  But  this  hope  died  as  the 
afternoon  wore  towards  its  close.  It  was  then  that  she 
decided  that  it  was  time  to  strike.  She  went  to  Farlede, 
obtained  from  him  the  permission  to  go  for  a  ride,  and 
asked  Leyton  to  accompany  her. 

They  proceeded  at  a  small  trot  towards  the  front  of  the 
column.  D'Ornano  and  the  officers  surrounding  him 
raised  their  hands  to  their  kepis  as  they  passed.  But 
nobody  gave  a  sign  of  an  intention  to  join  them.  To  avoid 
giving  the  impression  that  he  was  purposely  holding  aloof, 
the  Corsican  had  engaged  his  subordinates  in  a  discussion 
of  a  point  of  tactics.  The  result  was  that  the  highly 
wrought  young  woman  hysterically  suspected  that  it  was 
his  intention  to  leave  her  thus  severely  alone,  with  the 
object  of  giving  her  to  understand  that  the  place  of  the 
nurse  is  in  the  hospital.  The  thought  brought  the  blood  to 
her  cheeks.  Suddenly  spurring  her  mount,  she  shot  in  a 
direction  at  right  angles  to  that  followed  by  the  column,  not 
even  turning  her  head  to  see  whether  Leyton  was  following. 

She  led  him  a  lively  chase.  Sidi-Malik's  horse  was  a 
present  from  Si-Hamza  and  a  thoroughbred  "air  drinker." 
For  twenty  minutes  the  puzzled  Leyton  had  to  keep  bent 
in  the  saddle,  handicapped  by  his  weight,  but  grimly  de- 


THE  ENIGMATICAL  CAFARD  359 

termined  to  overtake  her.  Fearing  lest  her  horse,  while 
going  a  that  fearful  pace,  should  stumble  and  throw  her,  he 
shouted  to  her  to  stop;  but  she  was  unmindful  of  his  warn- 
ings. At  last  she  slowed  down,  stopping  at  the  bottom 
of  a  gully.     When  he  reached  the  place,  she  had  alighted. 

She  was  shaking  the  dust  off  her  skirt.  Her  anger  was 
now  spent.  She  sat  down,  and  for  half  an  hour  they 
talked  on  different  subjects.  Leyton's  account  of  the  role 
Dje'ilma  had  played  in  his  escape  succeeded  in  restoring 
her  to  complete  good-humor.  She  began  to  talk  of  the  life 
she  had  led  in  the  hospital.  After  this  exchange  of  confi- 
dences, unconsciously  they  found  themselves  again  on  the 
old  ground  of  fraternal  friendship.  But  it  was  Leyton 
who  felt  most  gratified  for  the  change.  The  web  he  had 
been  so  long  in  weaving,  and  which  she  had  so  easily 
broken,  was  repaired.  This  time  he  was  determined  not 
to  give  her  the  chance  of  escaping. 

When  they  rose  to  go  back  it.  was  dusk.  The  light  of 
bivouac  fires  guided  them  to  camp.  At  this  hour  the 
troopers,  squatting  between  stacked  rifles,  were  busy 
around  the  pots  where  the  mutton  of  the  evening  meal  was 
boiling. 

The  smell  of  cooking  brought  Leyton  to  a  sense  of  his 
situation.  Gisele  was  the  assistant  of  Doctor  Farlede. 
Sidi-Malik  and  Anoun-Dialo  had  already  been  given  a 
job  as  camel-drivers.  He  had  neither  tent  nor  food,  and 
he  was  nobody's  guest.  After  all,  he  had  best  ride  back 
to  Figuig,  inform  Si-Hamza  of  his  plan  to  go  to  Paris  for 
a  fortnight,  and  obtain  from  him  the  necessary  supplies. 
If  Sidi-Malik  consented  to  serve  as  guide,  he  would  be 
back  the  next  day  at  an  early  hour. 


360        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

Just  as  he  was  about  to  go  in  search  of  the  camel-driver, 
the  arrival  of  an  orderly  came  to  settle  his  situation. 
D'Ornano  invited  him  to  dine  at  the  officers'  mess. 

Farlede  was  at  this  moment  giving  his  nurse  instructions 
concerning  the  wounded. 

"Wait  a  minute!"  he  called  to  the  painter.  "I  am 
going  with  you." 

He  asked  for  some  water  wherewith  to  wash  his  hands, 
and  looked  around  for  his  coat.  It  was  Gisele  who  brought 
it.     As  he  took  the  garment  a  thought  struck  him. 

"And  what  shall  we  do  with  you  ?"  he  said  to  the  young 
woman.  "  I  see  no  other  way  but  for  you  to  come  with  us. 
The  attendants  can  be  left  in  charge  for  an  hour." 

"No,  thank  you,"  she  replied  dryly.  "I  never  go  where 
I  am  not  wanted.  Moreover,  I  have  just  come  back  from 
a  ride.  It  is  only  right  that  I  should  relieve  you  when  you 
take  your  meals." 

Ley  ton  made  no  comment,  and  the  young  surgeon  merely 
remarked  that  he  would  call  d'Ornano's  attention  to  the 
subject.  At  table,  the  American  was  given  a  cheerful 
welcome.  It  seemed  to  him  that  d'Ornano  showed  some- 
thing of  a  tendency  to  isolate  himself  from  the  general 
conversation.  Yet  he  did  not  forget  his  guest;  and  he 
spoke  several  times,  always  on  the  subject  of  Si-Hamza, 
Abd-er-Rhaman  and  the  operations  Leyton  had  witnessed 
the  day  the  Moslems  had  entered  the  oasis.  Towards  the 
close  of  the  meal,  he  told  the  American  that  he  fully  ex- 
pected he  would  accept  a  place  in  his  tent.  Leyton  thanked 
him.  And  as  everybody  was  strolling  out  to  smoke  a  cigar 
or  a  cigarette,  he  started  on  a  tour  of  the  camp. 

He  had  stopped  to  sketch,  by  the  light  of  his  cigar,  a 


THE   ENIGMATICAL  CAFARD  361 

group  of  men  who  had  congregated  around  the  dying 
embers  of  a  bivouac  fire,  when  he  became  aware  that  some- 
body had  stopped  behind  him  and  was  watching  over  his 
shoulder.  Then  the  stroller  sat  down  at  his  side.  In  the 
glow  of  his  pipe  his  face,  as  red  as  a  brick,  emerged  from 
the  darkness.  Ley  ton  turned  to  look  at  the  new-comer. 
It  was  O'Hara. 

"And  how  be  you,  sir?" 

"Indeed,  is  that  you,  O'Hara ?"  he  exclaimed.  "You 
are  hail  fellow  well  met.  There  is  too  little  light  to  draw 
by,  and  I  was  just  looking  for  the  fellow  who  would  tell  me 
something  of  the  men  in  the  Legion." 

This  request,  in  appearance  so  innocent,  seemed  to  dis- 
please the  Irishman. 

"Beg  pardon,  sir,"  he  scolded.  "I  thought  you  was  a 
painter?" 

"So  I  am." 

"Then  paint  them,  paint  them.  Don't  ask  questions. 
A  Legionary  is  a  dead  man." 

Leyton  looked  at  him  in  stupefaction.  O'Hara  went 
on: 

"See  here.  I'll  speak  to  you  because  you  are  young, 
while  most  of  us  is  graybeards  with  a  stomach  ruined  by 
Spanish  alcohol;  also  because  I  like  myself  a  smack  of 
the  English  tongue.  While  you  are  around,  go  smooth  and 
be  easy.  Of  course,  we  can  speak  of  the  dead  ones  because 
they  suffer  no  more.  But  what  will  you  be  saying  when 
I  tell  you  that  we  had  among  us  an  archbishop  and  a  prince 
of  Hohenzollern.  A  Hohenzollern,  yes,  sir.  A  German 
cruiser  came  to  Oran  to  claim  his  corpse." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  apologized  the  American.     "I 


362        IN   THE   WAKE    OF  THE    GREEN   BANNER 

should  have  known.  It  was  thoughtlessness  on  my  part 
and  nothing  more." 

"I  know  it  was,  and  that's  why  I  am  talking.  We  of 
the  Legion  are  kind  of  fighting  corpses;  and  there  is  a 
rule  in  the  battalions  never  to  try  to  know  and  never  to  tell. 
Some  of  us  is  mere  children  of  sixteen  and  under.  What 
kind  of  story  can  they  have  ?  Some,  like  me  and  Larry, 
have  not  much  to  conceal.  A  craving  for  aguardiente  was 
born  with  us,  and  we  enjoy  looking  for  trouble  when  there 
is  nothing  doing.  But  it's  nothing  but  God's  truth  I  am 
telling  you  when  I  say  that  the  two  regiments  of  the  Legion 
have  between  them  twenty  millionaires.  What  did  they 
do?  .  .  .  Go  and  ask  Dache,  the  barber  of  the  Zouaves, 
who  grafted  a  rat's  tail  on  a  rat's  nose  and  sold  it  for 
a  new  species  to  English  visitors.  To  those,  sir — I  have 
seen  and  I  know — life  is  hell.  Ask  the  doctor,  and  he 
will  tell  you  that  twenty  per  cent,  of  us  is  insane.  Be  sure 
you  don't  bet  me  your  tobacco  that  it's  all  due  to  drink. 

"And  to  what  is  it  due,  then  ?" 

"Don't  you  reckon,  sir,  that  the  life  of  some  has  its 
miseries  and  its  shames?  Is  it  queer  that  they  should 
want  to  forget  or  pay  for  what  they've  done.  The  gate's 
open.  Who  wants  to  get  killed  is  given  a  chance  to  redeem 
his  past.  I  was  telling  you  about  that  Hohenzollern. 
The  first  day  he  was  with  us  he  took  to  his  bed  and  never 
got  up.  The  three  weeks  he  was  in  the  hospital  he  never 
said  a  word.  A  long,  lean  one  he  was.  Seemed  to  have 
suffered  enough,  God  knows.  'Twas  ghastly  to  see  him 
die  with  set  teeth." 

"Then  how  was  it  known  he  was  a  Hohenzollern?" 

"The  imperial  family  claimed  his  corpse,  I  told  you. 


THE   ENIGMATICAL  CAFARD  363 

The  same  thing  happened  once  to  a  Spanish  grandee.  It 
always  comes  out  by  accident,  you  understand.  'Twas 
in  Mexico,  in  the  sixties,  one  day  that  them  greasers 
refused  to  serve  the  mass  for  reasons  of  politics,  and  the 
Colonel  wanted  it  served,  that  we  learned  about  the  arch- 
bishop. He  was  killed  soon  afterwards;  and  peace  be  to 
his  poor  soul !  It's  only  while  they  are  on  their  Golgotha, 
and  bullets  won't  do  them  a  kindness,  that,  for  us,  they 
are  dead  ones." 

No  doubt  he  would  have  carried  further  his  reflections 
on  pity,  redemption  and  forgiveness  had  he  not  been 
interrupted  by  Leyton.     The  American  stood  up. 

"  For  God's  sake ! "  he  yelled.     "  What's  the  matter  ?  " 

A  brawl  was  in  progress  among  the  soldiers  he  had  been 
sketching  ten  minutes  before.  Shadows  were  wrestling 
in  the  darkness.     Somebody  yelled: 

"He  ran  me  through!  .  .  .  Get  his  bayonet.  Kill  him, 
you  cowards!  .  .  .  Kill  him!" 

Leyton  was  on  the  point  of  running  to  the  seat  of  the 
trouble,  when  O'Hara  grabbed  him  by  the  shoulder. 

"Hands  off!"  he  said.  "It's  a  case  of  cafard  again. 
Unless  you're  looking  for  a  puncture  in  the  bowels,  you'd 
better  let  the  patrol  attend  to  it." 

He  compelled  the  painter  to  sit  down.  A  picket  made 
an  abrupt  appearance  on  the  scene;  and  in  a  twinkle  two 
men  were  hurried  away,  one  to  be  kept  under  guard,  the 
other  to  be  taken  care  of  in  the  hospital. 

"  Court-martial  to-morrow.  Sixty  days  in  jail.  He  will 
end  badly  yet,"  commented  O'Hara.  "Likely  as  not  he 
will  throw  a  button  in  the  face  of  an  officer  and  twelve 
men  will  spill  his  blood  in  front  of  a  cactus  hedge.     This 


364        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE    GREEN   BANNER 

makes  the  third  time  he's  hurt  a  man  when  the  cafard  is 
frolicking  in  his  head.     'Tis  a  damn  sight  too  often." 

As  this  strange  word,  cafard,  passed  his  lips  again, 
Ley  ton  turned  to  look  at  him.  In  French  slang,  the 
cajard  is  sometimes  the  school-boy  who  tells  tales  on  his 
class-mates.  It  is  applied  also  to  all  kinds  of  sneaks  and 
hypocrites.  Properly  speaking,  it  is  a  bug.  Not  knowing 
which  definition  would  fit  O'Hara's  sentence,  the  painter 
asked : 

"What  the  deuce  do  you  mean  by  'cafard'?" 

As  the  Irishman  was  busy  relighting  his  pipe,  he  had  to 
wait  for  an  answer. 

"The  cafard f  I'll  tell  you.  Ever  seen  one  of  them 
black  beetles,  the  size  of  the  first  joint  of  my  thumb,  which 
buries  its  eggs  in  a  ball  of  dirt  ?  Away  they  go  with  their 
children,  the  male  pulling,  the  female  pushing  with  its 
hind  legs.  You  try  to  take  the  ball  away  from  them  and 
hide  it.  They  will  be  looking  for  it  for  a  life  time. 
Bother  them,  maim  them;  they  will  keep  rolling  their 
children  in  spite  of  your  superior  sense.  For  sheer, 
dodgasted  fixity  of  purpose,  you  have  never  seen  the  like 
of  them  two  animals.  Well,  now,  suppose  that  a  man 
feels  in  his  belfry  a  cafard  a-rolling  and  a-rolling  his  ball  ? 
It's  madness,  you  call  it  ?  You  don't  know.  You  never 
swallowed  Spanish  stuff  when  you  were  coming  back  from 
Dahomey  shaking  with  malaria  fever.  A  man  comes  back 
from  the  white  man's  grave,  on  Madagascar's  west  coast, 
all  green  from  dysentery  and  congestion  of  the  liver.  A 
Spaniard  sells  him  ten  quarts  of  wine  for  twenty  cents  and 
ten  absinthes  for  a  dime.  What  kind  of  stuff  is  that,  you 
will  be  after  asking  me?    When  that  sick  man  feels  the 


THE   ENIGMATICAL  CAFARD  365 

cafard  a-rolling  in  his  head,  he  will  be  hot  on  somebody's 
trail.  Sometimes  he  hurts  the  Spaniard.  The  more  the 
pity  if  he  does  not,  for  then  he  is  liable  to  hurt  a  friend." 

"But  the  man  who  did  the  cutting  just  now  was  not 
drunk! 

"Drunk!  .  .  .  Drunk  as  a  fish!  You  can  go  bail  that 
he  stole  some  alcohol  from  the  hospital." 

There  was  a  pause.  O'Hara  broke  it  after  a  minute's 
silence. 

"  Want  to  know  what  a  man  is  liable  to  do  when  bothered 
by  the  cafard  ?  First  of  all,  he  will  sell  his  belt  to  a  negro 
for  threepence-ha'penny  and  his  bayonet  to  a  Jew  for  a 
shilling.  I  have  known  some  who  sold  their  medals. 
They  drink  that.  Then  a  Juanita  gets  the  rest  of  their 
clothing.  Sometimes  they  come  back  with  their  garments; 
but  it's  just  as  bad.  With  one  of  us  it  started  this  way. 
He  was  the  Colonel's  secretary,  and  an  ex-officer  at  that. 
One  day  he  dresses  in  the  Colonel's  uniform.  'Twas 
dusk  and  they  did  not  recognize  him.  At  the  gate  the 
sentry  bawls:  'Here  comes  the  Colo!'  The  picket  goes 
out  and  the  whole  bunch  of  them  present  their  arms.  In 
the  street  he  meets  lieutenants.  They  salute.  He  meets 
privates.  'Come  here!'  sez  he.  'Get  back  to  barracks. 
Four  days  in  clink  is  the  effect  of  my  kindness.  You  are 
not  clean.'  He  meets  a  quartermaster-sergeant.  'You 
know  Pepita?' — 'Yes,  Colonel,  she  is  a  trollop!' — 'Four 
days  for  you.  Tell  her  that  at  eight  o'clock  I'll  go  to  her 
place  to  kiss  my  children.'  He  makes  the  round  of  the 
town  and  finally  lands  in  a  joint  way  down  in  the  Spanish 
quarter.  He  sits  down  and  takes  some  absinthe.  By 
twelve  o'clock  he  was  dancing  a  cake-walk  on  the  table. 


366        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

He  spent  a  matter  of  sixty  dollars  with  never  a  cent  in  his 
pocket;  and  I'll  be  damned  if  he  did  not  succeed  in  getting 
back  to  barracks,  leaving  to  his  Colonel  the  reputation  of 
a  true  sport." 

He  stopped,  and  when  Ley  ton's  mirth  had  subsided  he 
resumed : 

"I  will  tell  you  another  one.  This  time  the  man  had 
been  packed  to  clink  for  drunkenness.  When  the  Corporal 
shuts  him  in,  he  insists  upon  hanging  his  medals  outside 
so  that  they  would  not  be  put  to  shame.  Pretty  soon  he's 
left  alone,  and  the  cafard  gets  out  of  his  hole  and  begins 
trotting.  Next  day  me  and  that  Corporal  finds  him  stiff 
as  a  frozen  snake  and  stark  naked  on  the  planking.  The 
Corporal  sez  he :  '  Run  for  the  doctor.  He's  dead.'* — '  You 
go  yourself,'  sez  I.  'Look  at  that  mess  bowl.  That  corpse, 
I  tell  you,  has  a  bellyful.' 

"  I  leave  the  grub  and  off  we  go.  Next  morning  we  come 
again.  We  find  the  corpse  same  as  ever,  with  his  eyes 
rolled  up  and  showing  his  teeth.  Only  the  mess  bowl  had 
been  licked  clean. 

"This  time  the  Corporal  runs  for  the  doctor. — 'Boys, 
the  man  is  playing  possum,'  sez  Mr.  Sawbones,  when  he 
comes.     '  Just  give  him  a  good  spanking! ' 

"  He  smiles  and  he  takes  a  pinch  of  snuff.  Me  and  the 
Corporal  we  handle  that  man  like  a  trunk;  we  pull  his  hair 
and  we  punch  his  nose  until  I  thought  I  had  worked 
enough  to  wreck  a  whole  baggage-car.  Never  a  move 
from  that  dead  man.  'We  will  wake  him  yet,'  sez  the 
doctor.  'Go  and  fetch  me  the  thermo-cautere.'  I  went 
because  I  wanted  a  drink.  But  you'd  never  believe  it,  sir. 
While  his  flesh  was  frizzling  until  it  stunk  in  that  jail, 


THE   ENIGMATICAL  CAFARD  367 

that  corpse  listened  only  to  the  cafard.  The  doctor,  sez 
he,  i Fetch  the  pump!*  But  while  we  played  fireman  on 
him,  he  got  stiffer  than  ever. 

"Mr.  Sawbones  was  so  puzzled  that  he  took  some  more 
snuff  to  clear  his  head.  Then  he  begins  to  talk  catalepsy. 
'Hold  on!'  sez  I.  'Maybe  you  had  better  give  me  that 
snuff/ 

"Well,  sir,  that  was  the  one  thing  that  corpse  had  not 
thought  of  and  was  not  prepared  to  stand.  I  had  no 
sooner  blew  some  up  his  nose  than  he  sits  up  and  sneezes : 

"'To  hell  with  you.  You  have  drenched  my  clothes 
and  burned  my  tattooing.' " 

He  rose  heavily.  A  bugle  was  heard  in  the  distance. 
The  tune  died  in  a  whisper.     It  was  taps. 

Leyton  went  to  bed.  He  found  d'Ornano  already 
asleep. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

ON   THE   TAGREMARET   ROAD 

The  march  forward  was  resumed  at  dawn.  The  land- 
scape was  fast  changing.  Patches  of  halfa  grass  and  tufts 
of  drin  heralded  the  proximity  of  the  steppe.  The  desert 
was  about  to  end  where  the  halfa  belt  began;  and  the 
demarcation  was  so  sharp  that  it  almost  seemed  to  the 
American  as  if  he  had  taken  a  gigantic  step  from  the 
Yuma  desert  into  the  thin  prairie  of  western  Kansas. 

Shortly  before  twelve  o'clock  an  orderly  brought  to 
Gisele  the  following  note : 

Dear  Mlle.  de  Diolie: — An  oversight  of  mine  draws  protests 
from  all  the  officers  of  the  column.  We  expected  you  last  night  at 
supper.  I  trust  you  will  not  nurse  a  grudge  against  me  for  a  slight 
which  could  not  have  been  intentional.  As  an  assistant  of  Doctor 
Farlede,  you  are  entitled  to  a  place  in  the  officers'  mess.  With  the 
hope  that,  in  the  future,  you  will  not  deprive  your  admirers  of  the 
charm  of  your  presence,  I  remain, 

Respectfully  yours,        D'Ornano. 

The  indignation  the  young  woman  conceived  from  this 
reading  was  so  violent  that  she  committed  the  fault  of 
showing  the  message  to  the  painter. 

"I   sha'n't  go!"   she  declared   spitefully.     "If  Major 

d'Ornano  asks  you  my  reasons,  you  may  tell  him  that  my 

duties  as  a  nurse  leave  me  little  time  for  my  admirers. 

368 


ON  THE  TAGREMARET  ROAD  369 

Tell  him  also  that  I  fail  to  see  the  reasons  which  compel 
him  to  cover  a  lack  of  savoir-vivre  with  a  hypocrisy.  If 
it  is  true  that  I  did  not  have  to  wait  for  an  invitation,  there 
was  no  need  for  him  to  invite  you.  I  could  have  done 
so  myself.  If  it  is  not  true,  this  cannot  be  construed  as  an 
apology.  And  if  Major  d'Ornano  owes  me  one,  he  is  not 
so  far  removed  from  the  rear  of  the  column  that  he  cannot 
come  in  person.  Here  are  the  horns  of  the  dilemma. 
I  came  to  the  result  by  the  help  of  elementary  logic.  Let 
him  put  in  practice  the  "know  thyself"  of  Socrates — 
which  is  not  quite  transcendental  psychology — and  he  will 
be  able  to  choose  his  seat." 

In  other  circumstances  Ley  ton  might  have  smiled. 
Nobody  but  Gisele  ever  had  indignations  so  pedantic. 
But  it  struck  him  that,  in  this  case,  the  blue  stocking  in  the 
making  had  only  worded  the  emotion  of  the  woman  treated 
with  disregard.  If  he  still  entertained  a  doubt  concerning 
the  nature  of  his  cousin's  infatuation,  the  bitterness  of  the 
remark  lifted  it. 

"My  dear  girl,"  he  said.  "I  have  no  right  to  ask  you 
questions;  but  it  is  evident  that  there  is  only  a  misunder- 
standing between  you  and  d'Ornano.  My  presence  here 
is  perhaps  more  than  an  annoyance;  it  may  be  an  obstacle. 
If  so,  I  can  only  question  the  wisdom  of  the  course  you 
followed  yesterday  when  you  asked  me  to  accompany  you 
to  Paris." 

Gisele  shrugged  her  shoulders,  opened  her  mouth  to 
reply,  thought  better  of  it  and  walked  away.  It  was 
Farlede  who  carried  her  answer  to  d'Ornano's  note.  The 
Corsican  perused  the  message  rapidly,  quietly  tore  it  in 
small  pieces  and  was  silent  the  rest  of  the  meal. 


370        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

The  column  reached  Ain-Sefra  a  day  later.  The  place 
had  been  evacuated  by  French  troops  and  colonists.  In 
Mecheria  they  found  also  a  solitude.  They  were  now  in 
the  midst  of  the  prairie,  the  Haifa  Sea,  as  it  is  called,  and 
one  morning  they  crossed  the  mud  flats  of  Shott-el-Shergui, 
before  reaching  Khre'ider.  The  country  was  alive  with 
native  cavalry,  and  the  French  had  retreated  to  Sa'ida 
before  them.  It  was  learned  that  Si-Hamza  was  in 
Geryville  with  the  Ouled-Sidi-Sheiks  and  the  Beni- 
Matar.  His  presence  in  the  vicinity  explained  the  com- 
paratively easy  progress  of  the  column.  The  Corsican 
knew  that  Abd-er-Rhaman,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
railroad,  was  marching  on  Sidi-Bel-Abbes.  So  long  as 
both  armies  would  be  near  at  hand,  no  danger  was  to  be 
apprehended  from  Bou-Amel.  But  the  Moslems  moved 
faster  than  the  little  troop.  At  Krafallah,  d'Ornano 
learned  that  the  Ouled-Sidi-Sheiks  had  entered  Sa'ida 
after  a  semblance  of  a  fight.  They  were  now  driving  the 
French  colonists  like  sheep  on  the  Traria  road,  towards 
the  plain  of  Egris. 

When,  at  Ain-el-Hadjar,  this  piece  of  news  was  con- 
firmed, the  Corsican  no  longer  attempted  to  conceal  his 
satisfaction.  Si-Hamza  had  been  decoyed.  The  sham 
fight  of  Sa'ida  had  been  waged  to  no  other  purpose  than 
to  draw  him  forward.  While  he  went  through  Franchetti 
and  Charrier  with  the  wild  hope  of  causing  the  Beni- 
Chougran  to  rise,  the  French,  with  Mascara  as  a  base,  were 
preparing  to  bottle  him  in  the  plain  of  Egris.  Nothing  short 
of  a  sharp  recall  issued  by  the  Sultan  in  person  could  now 
save  the  young  fool.  The  net  was  closing.  D'Ornano's 
glance  betrayed  his  satisfaction.    Whatever  his  personal 


ON  THE  TAGREMARET  ROAD  371 

feelings  for  Si-Hamza  might  be,  he  wished  only  ill  to  the 
rebellious  Ouled-Sidi-Sheiks. 

Leaving  Ai'n-el-Hadjar  and  the  Hauts  Plateaux,  the 
column  began,  in  the  midst  of  a  perfect  solitude,  to  go 
down  the  loop  described  by  the  railroad.  Here  again  they 
met  with  an  almost  kaleidoscopic  change  of  landscape. 
The  prairie  was  now  behind.  Below  them  was  the  Tell. 
The  change  was  startling.  They  left  the  flat  expanses  of 
the  monotonous  steppe  to  enter,  or  rather  to  drop  into 
well-watered  mountain  land  covered  with  semi-tropical 
vegetation. 

On  reaching  Sai'da,  d'Ornano  beheld  the  town  in  flames. 
But  a  still  greater  surprise  awaited  him.  The  sudden 
whistle  of  a  locomotive  was  immediately  answered  by 
delirious  yells  from  the  column.  The  Corsican  saw  his 
men  leave  their  ranks  and  scatter  over  the  railroad 
embankment,  shouting,  laughing  and  throwing  skywards 
kepis  and  water-bottles.  He  swore,  but  to  no  avail.  A 
minute  later  an  armored  train  hove  into  sight. 

There  was  no  end  of  kissing  done  as  Turcos  from  the 
Mascara  regiment  left  the  train  and  began  to  talk 
Sabir  to  the  crowd  of  Marsouins,  Legionaries,  Bataillons 
d'Afrique  and  artillery  men.  D'Ornano  pushed  his  way 
towards  a  lieutenant  whp  was  then  kissing  Capo  di 
Borgo. 

"What's  your  name,  Lieutenant?"  he  called  sharply. 

The  man  came  to  attention  and  saluted — "Serral,  mon 
commandant." 

"What  in  hell  are  you  doing  here?" 

Serral  explained.  Detailed  by  General  des  Essarts  to 
patrol  the  railroad  between  Saida  and  Dublineau,  he  had 


372        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GKEEN  BANNER 

been  the  last  in  opposing  Si-Hamza's  march  on  Thiersville. 
When  he  had  thought  it  necessary  to  retreat,  he  had  found 
the  Traria  bridge  blown  up.  He  had  avoided  capture  by 
moving  up  the  line  at  high  speed.  Often  he  had  been 
compelled  to  stop;  but  he  had  managed  to  keep  the  foe  at 
bay  with  his  machine-guns  while  some  of  his  men  removed 
the  obstacles  placed  on  the  tracks.  Despairing  of  captur- 
ing him,  Si-Hamza  had  left  him  alone.  Going  back  to 
Traria  a  last  time,  he  had  bumped  into  Bou-Amel. 

The  news  he  brought  enabled  d'Ornano  to  form  a  fairly 
good  estimate  of  the  situation.  Si-Hamza  was  going  by 
way  of  Thiersville,  Palikao  and  Les  Aissias,  with  the 
aim  of  capturing  the  heights  of  Ain-Fares.  Abd-er- 
Rhaman  was  at  Dublineau,  marching  on  Mascara  by 
Crevecceur.  Bou-Amel  had  come  by  way  of  Mercier- 
Lacombe,  intending  to  close  upon  Mascara  by  Fekkan, 
Tizi  and  Saint-Andre\  Beaten  at  Trois-Rivieres  by 
General  Dusseau,  he  had  been  prevented  from  establishing 
communications  with  the  Sultan.  Weak  in  cavalry,  he 
was  now  moving  along  the  heights,  no  doubt  with  the  in- 
tention of  occupying  both  the  Sai'da  and  the  Frenda  roads. 
D'Ornano  understood  at  once  that  he  could  not  now  reach 
Mascara  without  coming  in  contact  with  the  Saharan 
chieftain.  It  was  certain  that  he  would  be  attacked. 
Wondering  where  he  could  best  make  a  stand,  he  hastily 
unfolded  his  topographical  map.  One  word  escaped  him: 
Ain-Guergour. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  now,  Lieutenant  ?"  he  asked 
of  Serral. 

"Go  with  you,  of  course,"  the  young  man  answered. 
"What  can  I  do?     I  am  stranded.     I  shall  leave  the  train 


ON  THE  TAGREMARET  ROAD  373 

here  and  join  you  with  my  hundred  men  and  my  two 
machine-guns." 

u  You  will  come  handy."  The  Corsican  wheeled  around. 
"Jarchin,  Capo,  put  a  little  order  in  that  crowd,"  he 
ordered.  "We  are  going  by  way  of  Tiffrit,  Tagremaret 
and  Ain-Guergour.  If  Bou-Amel  attacks  us — and  I  hope 
he  will — we  can  make  a  stand  in  the  pass  and  wait  there 
until  General  des  Essarts  gets  the  upper  hand.  When  he 
does  we  will  cut  off  Bou-Amers  retreat.  Is  this  clear? 
Go,  gentlemen,  and  tell  the  troops.  The  private  who 
understands  does  better  work.  We  start  when  you  are 
ready." 

The  column  left  Sai'da  half  an  hour  later  and  marched 
until  sunset.  The  night  was  spent  without  alarms  near 
a  deserted  farm.  Up  to  this  point  the  road  had  crossed  a 
fairly  well  cultivated  country;  but  from  now  on  the  way 
would  lie  across  the  thickest  woods  in  North  Africa,  the 
forest  of  Tiffrit.  D'Ornano  knew  that  in  them  he  would 
run  the  risk  of  falling  into  an  ambush;  but  the  mountainous 
ground  was,  on  the  other  hand,  extremely  unfavorable  to 
the  evolutions  of  cavalry.  Should  he  come  unexpectedly 
in  contact  with  Bou-Amers  troops,  he  could  still  put  his 
guns  in  battery  upon  some  crest,  and  begin  there  a  stout 
defence,  without  fear  of  being  swept  by  an  overwhelming 
rush.  But  this  was  a  contingency  scarcely  to  be  dreaded. 
In  all  likelihood,  Bou-Amel  would  advance  in  the  plain  of 
Egris,  in  close  proximity  with  the  foothills;  and  before  he 
could  be  apprised  of  the  movement  threatening  his  rear, 
the  column  would  have  reached  Tagremaret.  D'Ornano 
knew  that  from  Tagremaret  to  Ain-Guergour  his  men 
were  equal  to  forcing  their  way  to  the  pass.     Mindful  that 


374        IN   THE   WAKE   OF  THE    GREEN   BANNER 

he  was  travelling  under  safe-conduct,  he  would  not  himself 
fire  the  first  shot;  but  if  Bou-Amel  did — and  he  would — 
A'in-Guergour  would  bequeath  to  posterity  the  name  of 
another  Hamilcar. 

Happen  what  might,  the  utmost  caution  was  now 
imperative.  Becoming  more  exacting  as  danger  became 
imminent,  he  began  to  drive  his  men  harder.  As  Bou- 
Amel  was  the  man  who  relied  solely  on  attacks  in  mass,  the 
column  had  adopted  the  marching  order  which  would, 
in  case  of  a  sudden  onslaught,  permit  its  commander  to 
convert  it  in  the  least  possible  time  into  a  hollow  square — 
an  antiquated  formation  well  adapted  to  antiquated  war- 
fare. The  onward  progress  of  the  column  was  swift  and 
silent.  There  was  now  no  singing.  The  men  kept  their 
ranks,  and  scouts  were  busy  beating  the  bush  on  all  sides. 
The  country  was  solitude  itself.  This  was  a  government 
forest  preserve,  and  no  farms  were  to  be  passed  on  the 
highway.  Thickets  of  thuyas,  lentiscs,  arbutus,  caroob, 
green  oak  and  cork  oak  succeeded  each  other.  Game 
was  plentiful,  especially  jerboas,  hares  and  red  partridges. 
From  time  to  time,  the  forest  enclosed  an  open  space 
covered  with  thapsias  and  palmettos.  The  men  shunned 
the  former  like  plague,  knowing  what  itching  and  swelling 
results  from  its  contact.  The  hillsides  were  intensely 
green  and  blue,  the  valley  opening  at  intervals  on  won- 
derful vistas  of  hazy  distances.  Two  or  three  times  they 
came  on  kubas  and  their  surrounding  woods  of  fig  trees. 
But  of  inhabitants,  none;  they  did  not  even  meet  with 
shepherds  pasturing  their  sheep. 

An  incident  of  importance  occurred  shortly  before  sunset. 
The  warning  shouts  of  the  scouts  had  scarcely  been  heard 


ON  THE  TAGREMARET  ROAD  375 

when  the  cadence  of  horses'  hoofs  caused  d'Ornano  to 
issue  the  order  to  halt.  In  front,  a  body  of  horsemen  ap- 
peared, halted  and  stood  looking  for  twenty  seconds.  No 
shots  were  exchanged.  The  horsemen  wheeled  around 
and  disappeared  with  the  suddenness  which  had  marked 
their  approach.  When  Capo  di  Borgo  asked  his  country- 
man the  reason  of  his  forbearance,  d'Ornano  replied  that, 
technically,  not  having  yet  reached  the  French  lines,  he 
was  still  bound  by  the  agreement  entered  into  with  Abd- 
er-Rhaman.  To  open  hostilities  would  amount  to  a  breach 
of  faith.  Let  Bou-Amel  fire  the  first  shot,  if  he  dared,  and 
abide  by  the  result. 

It  was  not  until  night  had  completely  fallen  that  prepara- 
tions for  camping  were  made.  Unwilling  to  trust  the  troop 
in  the  woods,  d  'Ornano  decided  that  the  road  would  do 
for  a  camping-ground.  Orders  were  issued  that  the  troopers 
were  to  take  their  supper  cold.  No  bivouac  fires  were  to  be 
lighted.  Having  taken  unusual  precautions  in  posting  the 
outer  guard  and  the  sentinels,  the  Corsican  left  Captain 
Jarchin  in  command  and  lay  down  for  a  few  hours  of  sleep. 

At  midnight  he  was  up.  He  had  purposely  reserved 
the  second  watch  for  himself,  knowing  full  well  that  if  the 
enemy  chose  to  make  a  night  attack  they  would  not  at- 
tempt it  before  the  small  hours.  If  such  an  attack  was 
contemplated,  he  was  loath  to  leave  to  another  the  task  of 
taking  dispositions  for  defence.  He  had  only  two  captains, 
and  the  lieutenants  lacked  experience  in  handling  men. 
Captain  Jarchin  and  his  colleague,  Lesueur,  in  charge 
of  the  artillery,  were  both  excellent  officers,  thoroughly 
trained  to  colonial  warfare;  but  one  had  chiefly  fought 
Chinese  Pavilions  Noirs  in  Eastern  Tonkin  and  upper 


376        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

Laos,  the  other  mulatto  sultans  and  their  retinue  of  slave- 
traders  in  Ouadai.  He  alone  knew  Bou-Amel  for  a  master 
of  surprises.  Alone  he  had  a  sufficient  knowledge  of  the 
country's  topography  to  choose  at  a  glance  where  to 
strike;  and  alone,  knowing  as  he  did  the  number  of  tricks 
the  old  Maddhi  kept  up  his  sleeve,  he  had  the  good  sense 
not  to  underestimate  the  ability  of  the  chieftain.  The 
repeated  setbacks  he  had  caused  his  arch-foe  to  suffer  in 
Figuig,  were  owing  more  to  Bou-AmePs  ignorance  of  the 
methods  which  will  reduce  a  fortress  than  of  a  total  lack 
of  generalship.  But  now  that  he  was  to  meet  him  in  the 
open,  in  a  country  of  woods  and  gullies  exactly  suited  to 
snares,  too  much  wariness  could  not  be  shown.  All  told, 
the  number  of  his  men  did  not  exceed  nine  hundred.  He 
had  machine-guns  and  artillery;  but,  with  more  than 
thirty  thousand  troops  to  oppose  him,  a  hope  of  victory 
could  not  even  be  conceived.  With  boundless  luck,  he 
might  perhaps  be  able  to  reach  and  hold  Ain-Guergour; 
but  this  only  on  condition  that  he  would  absolutely  out- 
class his  foe  in  vigilance,  doggedness  and  generalship. 

His  first  care  was  to  double  the  sentinels,  to  multiply  the 
rounds  and  to  relieve  the  men  every  hour.  He  was  con- 
vinced that,  despite  the  appearance  of  solitude,  his  camp 
was  watched  by  a  thousand  eyes.  He  soon  obtained  the 
undeniable  confirmation  of  his  suspicions.  At  three  o'clock 
an  adjutant  reported  that,  notwithstanding  all  precautions, 
two  sentries,  who  had  apparently  succumbed  to  the  de- 
lusion of  the  moving  bush,  had  just  been  found  dead,  one 
with  a  flissa  sticking  between  his  shoulders,  the  other  with 
a  string  around  his  neck.  Knowing  that,  unless  an  im- 
mediate attack  was  contemplated,  no  attempt  would  have 


ON  THE   TAGREMARET  ROAD  377 

been  made  to  make  away  with  the  watch,  cTOrnano  ordered 
that  half  a  company  of  Marsouins  should  stand  to  their 
arms;  and  to  convince  the  foe  that  watch  was  strictly  kept, 
he  ordered  a  bugler  to  sound  the  reveille.  The  stratagem 
was  successful.  The  rest  of  the  night  passed  without  further 
alarms.  When  dawn  colored  the  hillsides,  scouting  parties 
sent  to  beat  the  bush  reported  that  not  a  trace  of  a  foe  was 
left.  A  smile  came  upon  d'Ornano's  lips  as  he  lighted  his 
first  cigarette.    However,  the  ordeal  was  by  no  means  over. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE  FARMHOUSE    OF    AIN-GUERG0UR 

The  march  towards  Tagremaret  was  resumed  at  six 
o'clock.  It  progressed  without  incidents  worth  noting 
until  nine,  when  the  Frenda  road  was  reached  and  the 
Wad-el- Abd,  an  affluent  of  the  Mina,  was  left  behind. 
Tagremaret  was  a  deserted  village.  The  column  was 
now  moving  north-west  towards  Cacherou  and  Mascara. 
D'Ornano,  who  had  not  bargained  for  so  much,  thanked 
his  star.  He  felt  that  the  attack  could  not  now  be  long 
postponed.  Bou-Amel  would  fight  for  three  reasons.  In 
the  first  place,  he  could  not  move  on  Mascara  and  leave 
a  hostile  command  in  his  rear.  The  topography  of  the 
country  gave  him  a  decided  advantage.  And  last,  but  not 
least,  he  had  several  accounts  to  settle  with  the  French 
commander.  The  fact  that  a  battle  had,  in  all  probability, 
already  begun  around  Mascara,  warranted  the  belief  that 
the  storm  was  about  to  break  with  tropical  violence.  The 
first  roar  of  thunder  came  at  one  o'clock.  Ten  minutes 
later  the  hurricane  raged.  But  luckily  for  the  column,  a 
warning  came  in  time.  It  was  brought  by  Sidi-Malik  and 
the  quartermaster-sergeant  of  spahis,  who  were  then  act- 
ing as  scouts. 

The  temperature  was  unbearably  hot.  The  command 
had  halted  under  a  wood  of  fig  trees  for  the  noon  meal  and 

378 


THE   FARMHOUSE   OF  AIN-GUERGOUR  379 

the  following  siesta.  D'Ornano  had  chosen  this  halting- 
place  with  some  care.  Not  only  did  it  afford  shade  and 
cover,  but  it  commanded  the  immediate  surroundings. 
Behind  rose  the  wooded  mountain  land  in  the  midst  of 
which  they  had  travelled  since  dawn.  In  front,  shut  in 
also  by  wooded  hills,  a  gently  sloping  stretch  of  ground, 
covered  with  thapsias  and  palmettos,  was  crossed  by  the 
dry  bed  of  a  torrent.  Ain-Guergour  was  still  nine  kilo- 
metres distant.  The  plain,  although  of  little  extent,  was 
large  enough  for  the  evolutions  of  cavalry.  D'Ornano 
suspected  that  Bou-AmeFs  horsemen  would  pour  upon 
him  the  minute  he  would  reach  the  opposite  foot-hills;  but 
be  did  not  expect  the  attack  so  soon.  Bou-AmeFs  trap 
was  well  laid.  Had  the  Corsican  commander  trusted  him- 
self to  the  opposite  bank  of  the  torrent,  a  charge  of  cavalry 
would  have  stopped  him  on  the  brink,  forcing  him  to  recross 
in  disorder.  The  wadi,  as  is  generally  the  case  in  the 
alluvial  plains  of  North  Africa,  had  burrowed  its  bed  deep 
into  the  red  earth.  As  the  bridge  had  been  blown  up, 
crossing  this  small-sized  canyon  would  have  broken  the 
hollow  square  formation  and  imperilled  the  guns.  Threat- 
ened also  by  the  infantry  which  swarmed  on  the  hillsides, 
the  column  would  have  been  surrounded,  dislocated,  swept 
into  the  river-bed  and  annihilated  almost  before  it  could 
fire  a  shot. 

The  enemy  had  succeeded  in  keeping  so  perfectly  under 
cover  that  the  sight  of  two  horsemen  coming  back  at  full 
gallop  attracted  the  attention  of  the  whole  command.  A 
cloud  of  dust  behind  them  indicated  that  cavalry  was  in 
pursuit.  Bou-Amel,  knowing  that  the  game  was  up,  had 
changed  his  tactics.     Fully  three  thousand  men  came  be- 


380       IN   THE    WAKE    OF  THE    GREEN   BANNER 

hind  the  fugitives.  And  they  were  so  close  upon  their 
heels,  that  d'Ornano  hesitated,  wondering  if  he  would  not 
have  to  shell  his  own  men  in  order  to  stop  the  pursuers. 

The  necessity  for  this  did  not  arise,  thanks  to  Sidi- 
Malik's  skill  in  choosing,  before  crossing  the  wadi,  a  point 
where  the  banks  of  the  torrent,  undermined  by  the  swift 
current,  had  fallen  into  the  bed.  But  what  two  men  could 
accomplish  successfully  was  impossible  for  a  body  of 
cavalry.  D'Ornano  saw  his  chance  to  turn  the  tables. 
Ordering  his  men  to  rally  around  him,  he  moved  as  fast 
as  he  could  towards  the  torrent  and  immediately  formed 
a  hollow  square  enclosing  his  animals,  baggage,  cannon 
and  machine-guns.  The  struggle  which  followed  lasted 
an  hour  and  twenty  minutes.  Bou-AmePs  cavalry,  broken 
three  times,  Tallied  on  each  occasion  behind  fresh  squad- 
rons, and  finally  managed  to  cross  on  the  bodies  of  its 
own  dead.  They  then  closed  in  upon  all  sides,  and  for 
a  few  minutes  the  contest  took  the  form  of  a  hand-to-hand 
fight  that  precluded  the  use  of  artillery.  The  foe  lit- 
erally leaped  to  die  upon  bayonet  points.  The  square, 
assaulted  on  all  sides,  was  unable  to  open  itself  for  a  dis- 
charge of  artillery,  without  running  at  the  same  time  the 
risk  of  being  severed  and  broken  up.  The  action  became 
a  scrimmage  where  yatagan  met  bayonet.  Moslems,  fall- 
en under  their  mounts,  were  dragged  from  the  saddle  and 
promptly  despatched.  Their  bodies  soon  formed  a  barrier 
in  front  of  the  column.  D'Ornano  owed  to  this  that  he 
was,  at  last,  enabled  to  use  his  machine-guns.  The 
rattling  of  the  deadly  engines  had  not  lasted  two  minutes, 
when  Bou-Amers  cavalry,  routed,  completely  decimated, 
scattered  to  the  four  corners  of  the  compass. 


THE   FARMHOUSE   OF  AIN-GUERGOUR  381 

It  had  been  a  close  shave;  but  the  point  was  carried. 
Master  of  the  ground  he  stood  upon,  d'Ornano  looked  at 
his  work.  He  had  littered  the  plain  with  corpses.  He  had 
yet,  it  is  true,  to  deal  with  innumerable  infantry,  but  at 
least  he  could  see  around  and  use  his  guns. 

The  crossing  of  the  torrent  was  accomplished  in  good 
order  and  without  great  losses.  A  dogged,  slow  but  steady 
advance  began.  Twice  cavalry  reappeared.  They  were 
stopped  at  eight  hundred  yards.  From  the  hills,  now 
steep  on  both  sides  of  the  road,  a  continuous  fire  of 
infantry  hampered  progress.  Nevertheless,  Bou-Amers 
troops  were  slowly  retreating  towards  the  plain  of  Egris. 
At  five  o'clock  the  column  came  within  sight  of  A'in- 
Guergour. 

Although,  to  all  practical  purposes,  d'Ornano  now  held 
the  pass,  he  fully  realized  that  enough  Moslems  remained 
behind  him  to  prevent  small  parties  from  getting  water.  A 
little  further  on,  a  very  large  farmhouse  stood  on  the  hill- 
side. In  all  probability  there  was  a  well  there;  perhaps 
wine-casks  remained  in  the  cellars.  If  he  could  carry  the 
position  he  would  enjoy,  among  other  advantages,  that  of 
being  able  to  house  his  wounded  in  more  comfortable 
quarters.  Against  natives  without  artillery,  masonry  walls 
constituted  also  a  bulwark  not  to  be  despised.  He  looked 
the  ground  over  attentively  and  then  faced  his  troop.  A 
number  of  them  had  fallen.  Enough  remained,  however, 
to  carry  the  farm  by  a  rush.  But  the  wounded  could  not 
be  abandoned,  even  momentarily;  and  to  carry  them  along 
during  the  assault  would  deprive  the  attack  of  the  requisite 
impetus.  A  party  of  sharp-shooters  would  have  to  do  the 
work.     D'Ornano  thought  with  a  smile  that  there  would 


382       IN   THE    WAKE    OF   THE    GREEN  BANNER 

never  be  a  better  opportunity  to  give  Capo  di  Borgo  the 
choice  between  death,  a  captaincy  or  the  cross. 

As  he  turned  around  to  look  for  his  countryman,  he 
caught  sight  of  Leyton  and  Gisele.  The  painter,  a  rifle  in 
his  hand,  and  black  with  powder,  like  everybody  else,  was 
wiping  his  brow  on  the  girl's  apron. 

D'Ornano  bit  his  lip  and  wheeled  around.  He  spoke 
to  the  bugler.  The  man  put  his  brass  to  his  mouth  and 
blew  a  few  notes.     Firing  ceased  instantly. 

"Better  get  under  cover  of  the  fig  trees,  fellows,"  said 
the  Corsican.  "There  is  no  longer  any  need  for  a  square. 
Get  the  wounded  under  shelter,  lie  down  and  show  me 
some  sharp-shooting." 

The  command  was  quickly  obeyed,  the  men  scattering 
in  all  directions.  Gunners  alone  kept  their  posts.  D'Or- 
nano  called  Captain  Jarchin. 

"You  are  to  assume  command,  Jarchin,"  he  said.  "I 
shall  myself  take  the  farm  with  twenty  men.  When  you 
see  us  in,  bring  the  column.  But  no  hurry.  You  know 
what  this  warfare  means,  I  believe.  All  prisoners  will  be 
tortured  and  mutilated.  See  that  you  have  everybody 
with  you;  and,  if  I  leave  men  on  the  ground,  be  sure  you 
pick  them  up.  Instruct  Lesueur  to  cease  shelling  the 
minute  he  sees  us  rise  from  the  ground  and  start  on  a 
rush." 

"Risky  business,"  Jarchin  said  simply.  "You  are  en- 
dangering the  life  of  the  officer  in  command.  Why  don't 
you  give  the  job  to  a  lieutenant?" 

"No  lieutenant  can  do  it  with  less  than  fifty  men." 

"All  right;  but  I  am  not  convinced.  Whom  do  you 
take  with  you?" 


THE   FARMHOUSE   OF  AIN-GUERGOUR  383 

"Have  the  bugler  call  for  silence.  I  shall  choose  them 
myself." 

The  bugler  blew  the  "  cease  firing  "  and  the  "rally."  The 
men  came  running  from  all  sides.  Jarchin  made  them 
take  their  ranks.  He  then  instructed  a  sergeant  to  call 
the  roll.  As  the  non-commissioned  officer  summoned  each 
man  by  name,  the  Captain  checked  the  results  in  his  note- 
book. D'Ornano,  smoking,  was  looking  towards  the 
farm. 

"Eighty-five  dead;  one  hundred  and  two  disabled; 
three  missing,"  Jarchin  reported. 

"All  right.  We  can't  afford  to  lose  many  more,"  said 
the  Corsican,  turning  back.  Then  he  added  more  loudly, 
with  a  smile:  "We  need  that  farm,  fellows.  I  want 
twenty  volunteers." 

Instantly,  Legionaries,  Marsouins  and  Joyeux  alike  left 
the  ranks  and  came  forward.  D'Ornano's  smile  became 
a  laugh. 

"I  knew  it,"  he  commented.  "As  I  cannot  take  you 
all,  I  will  call  the  best  shots.     Take  your  ranks." 

He  began  calling  aloud : 

"Maillot,  Pobadjeski,  Lemeneur,  Pladec,  Shwartz, 
O'Hara,  Souvarine,  Rholf,  Kelly,  van  Bomsen,  Etche- 
garray,  Doolan,  Castillo  del  Mar,  de  Plassieux,  Thomlin- 
son,  Weinshwurtz,  Heisermann,  Grimaldi,  Vouravief,  Sidi- 
Malik." 

His  glance  rested  on  Leyton.  Then  he  turned  about. 
The  American  came  forward,  white  with  anger. 

"  What  about  me  ?"  he  said.  "  Can't  I  shoot  as  straight 
as  the  others?" 

"You  are  a  non-combatant." 


384       IN   THE    WAKE    OF   THE    GREEN   BANNER 

"By  God!  A  non-combatant  black  with  powder 
smoke!  Was  I  a  non-combatant  the  night  we  went 
together  to  the  Kutubia  ?    You  took  Sidi-Malik." 

"  Nobody  will  weep  over  Sidi-Malik." 

"Oh,  you  go  to  blazes!"  shouted  the  painter,  losing  all 
restraint.  "  You  know  damned  well  that  it  is  not  I  who 
will  cause  much  weeping." 

D'Ornano  made  no  reply.  His  glance  again  sought 
Gisele.  The  young  woman  was  looking  in  his  direction 
with  widened  eyes,  a  mute  statue  of  appeal.  The  Corsican 
turned  quietly  away,  just  in  time  to  see  O'Hara  push  his 
elbow  in  Leyton's  ribs.  He  heard  the  extraordinary  com- 
ment: 

"Holy  Mother  of  Moses!  Is  it  that  you  and  our  man 
is  suffering  from  the  cafard  ?" 

The  query  made  d'Ornano  blink.  However,  no  other 
sign  of  his  confusion  appeared  on  his  face.  He  looked  his 
men  over  and  asked : 

"Ready?" 

"I  see  you  leave  the  Marsouins  behind,  Commandant 
d'Ornano?"  said  Jarchin,  somewhat  pointedly.  "The 
Joyeux  and  the  Turcos,  I  understand ;  but  we  are  with  you 
since  the  beginning." 

"I  don't  know  the  Marsouins  as  well  as  my  own  men, 
that's  all,"  the  Corsican  explained.  "  Name  five  and  I 
take  them." 

Jarchin  named  five.  The  challenged  men  came  for- 
ward.    A  prouder  set  of  beings  it  was  impossible  to  behold. 

"Now,  boys,  from  tree  to  tree,  until  I  order  you  to  lie 
down.  Sergeant  Ruiz,  let  me  have  your  rifle.  So  long, 
Jarchin." 


THE   FARMHOUSE   OF  AIN-GUERGOUR  385 


Good  luck,  Commandant." 

They  were  gone.  They  jumped  from  fig  tree  to  fig 
tree  until  they  reached  the  open.  At  the  edge  of  the  wood 
the  dangerous  part  of  the  undertaking  began.  The  farm 
stood  clear  of  the  trees,  on  an  eminence  overlooking  the 
surrounding  ground.  The  Moslems  who  held  it  were 
assuredly  poor  shots,  but  they  were  behind  walls.  The 
sharp-shooters  advanced  en  tirailleurs,  by  dashes,  gaining 
a  few  yards  at  a  time,  then  lying  down  behind  their  knap- 
sacks to  empty  their  magazines,  reload  and  await  another 
chance.  While  lying  flat,  they  were  able  to  pick  off  all 
who  dared  show  their  skulls  above  the  top  of  the  walls. 
But,  unfortunately,  the  house,  like  all  South  Algerian 
buildings,  was  provided  with  loop-holes,  and  was  there- 
fore easily  defended  against  a  few  men. 

Before  he  had  left  the  wood  fifty  yards  behind,  d'Ornano 
saw  four  of  his  companions  wounded.  Two  men  were 
dangerously  hurt  and  had  to  be  abandoned.  The  other 
two  were  able  to  continue.  A  fifth  man,  Kelly,  was 
killed  outright  in  the  middle  of  the  next  dash.  Soon 
afterwards  the  turn  of  Pladec  came.  D'Ornano  had 
still  two  hundred  yards  to  cover  before  reaching  the  walls, 
and  eight  of  his  men  had  been  hit,  two  were  dead,  three 
were  disabled  and  one  was  dying.  He  ordered  a  rest, 
thinking  that  death  was  doing  its  work  a  little  too  fast. 

There  was  still  a  possibility  that  the  advance  would 
prove  easier  on  the  opposite  side.  The  gate  they  were 
now  facing  was  intact  and  apparently  locked,  while  the 
Moslems,  in  entering  the  premises,  had  very  likely  broken 
the  back  entrance  open.  Calling  to  Sidi-Malik,  O'Hara, 
Etchegarray  and  Vouravief  to  follow  him,  d'Ornano  went 


386        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

to  reconnoitre  on  that  side.  Crawling  to  avoid  bullets, 
the  five  men  managed  to  come  unscathed  into  view  of 
the  other  gate. 

It  was  open.  The  heavy  panel,  torn  from  its  hinges  by  a 
crow-bar,  hung  outside.  D'Ornano  had  just  ordered  Sidi- 
Malik,  to  go  back  and  tell  the  other  men  that  the  position 
might  be  carried  more  easily  on  that  side,  when  he  heard 
the  crash  of  a  shell  on  solid  wood.  A  blast  followed.  The 
front  gate  had  gone  to  splinters. 

Sidi-Malik  had  now  reached  a  position  which  enabled 
him  to  grasp  the  scene  in  its  ensemble.  The  well-known 
yell  of  Ley  ton  made  him  raise  his  head,  and,  for  the  space 
of  thirty  seconds,  he  beheld  the  painter,  Rholf,  van  Bom- 
sen,  Weinshwurtz  and  de  Plassieux  running  like  mad  in 
the  direction  of  the  breach.  Almost  at  the  same  moment 
he  saw  the  Moslems  leave  the  farm.  He  raised  a  shout  of 
warning.  He  shot  once,  twice,  and  then  started  to  run, 
but  all  to  no  avail.  When  he  reached  the  place  occupied 
a  minute  before  by  d'Ornano,  O'Hara,  Etchegarray  and 
Vouravief,  the  three  last,  shot  or  stabbed,  were  dead  and 
the  Corsican  was  a  prisoner. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE  THOUGHTS  OF  THE  NIGHT-WATCH 

Moghrib!  Bou-Amers  Saharans  lay  down  their  arms 
and  turned  towards  Mecca  for  prayer.  In  the  departing 
light,  these  were  minutes  of  tragical  rest  for  the  defenders 
of  the  farm.  Touches  of  color  still  lingered  in  the  fast- 
darkening  sky.  At  the  base  of  the  circle  of  blue  moun- 
tains, the  bivouac  fires  of  Bou-Amers  army  were  lighting. 
From  the  terraced  roof,  where  he  had  gone  with  a  spy- 
glass to  study  the  enemy's  position,  Captain  Jarchin  heard 
Maillot  throw  in  clear  notes  to  the  night's  stillness: 

Des  marches  d'Afrique, 
J'en  ai  plein  le  dos. 
On  y  va  trop  vite. 
On  n'y  boit  que  dTeau. 

He  smiled.  After  d'Ornano's  capture  he  had  feared 
discouragement.  But  the  men  were  singing;  they  would 
fight.  Woven  on  the  Arab  tune  of  the  danse  du  ventre  the 
chorus  burst  forth,  taken  up  by  the  whole  troop: 

Travaja  la  muqueir, 
Travaja  bono. 

After  a  silence  of  ten  seconds,  Maillot's  voice  was  heard 

again: 

Des  lauriers,  des  victoires, 
De  ce  songe  illusoire 
Que  Ton  nomme  la  gloire, 
J'en  ai  plein  le  dos. 
387 


388        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN   BANNER 

Then  the  chorus  again  and  the  Arab  tune: 

Bono  bezef  la  muqueir, 
Travaja  bono. 

And  much  more,  untranslatable,  in  Mediterranean 
sabir,  an  atrocious  mixture  of  Maltese,  Spanish,  Arabic  and 
French.  It  was  sad,  on  the  whole,  and  expressive  of  the 
men's  weariness.  For  a  century  past,  they  and  their 
predecessors  had  trampled  this  African  land,  fought  for 
every  inch  of  ground,  put  down  countless  rebellions, 
marched  from  the  Pyramids  to  Mogador.  Always  they 
had  suffered  from  thirst,  often  they  had  been  starved. 
And  the  result  was  this,  the  story  of  Sidi-Brahim  over  again. 
Little  wonder,  then,  if  of  laurels  and  victories,  of  encounters 
and  glory,  they  felt  they  had  had  their  fill. 

Jarchin  knew  that  it  was  not  for  themselves  as  much  as 
for  d'Ornano  that  they  grieved.  His  capture  after  such 
labors  they  regarded  as  an  injustice  of  fate.  Indeed,  he 
had  himself  come  very  near  asking  of  the  Powers  the 
trite  question,  "  What's  the  use  ?"  He  suspected  that  even 
the  Marsouins,  his  own  men,  were  disposed  to  consider 
that,  in  assuming  the  authority  formerly  held  by  d'Ornano, 
he  reaped  the  benefit  of  a  coup  planned  and  carried  out  by 
another  far  worthier  than  himself.  But  he  knew  also  that 
such  is  the  philosophy  of  war.  Beginning  with  Kleber  and 
down  the  course  of  history,  the  heroes  of  African  cam- 
paigns, after  a  career  of  success  achieved  against  odds,  have 
often  met  with  an  obscure,  often  a  hideous  death.  The 
thought  of  what  the  future  held  in  store  for  him  made  his 
smile  a  little  sadder.  Who  cares  for  the  exiles  waging 
colonial    warfare?     The    stay-at-homes,    well-fed,    well- 


THE   THOUGHTS   OF  THE  NIGHT-WATCH         389 

housed  beings  as  they  are,  do  not  reckon  with  malaria  and 
pestilence  In  ten  years  d'Ornano  would  be  forgotten  by  all 
except  the  officers  of  his  own  regiment.  By  that  time  he, 
Jarchin,  would  probably  be  ready  to  die  of  fever  in  some 
swamp  of  Upper  Bornou  or  Siam.  Another  man  would  in 
turn  reap  the  profits  of  his  toil.  This  newcomer  would 
step  into  his  shoes,  would  bury  him,  would  talk  of  duty  to 
the  men  and  would  go  merrily  along,  until  snake-bite  or 
other  cheerful  accident  of  the  same  kind  would  stop  him 
half-way  to  the  Valhalla  of  his  dreams  and  bestow  on 
another  man  the  task  of  carrying  the  French  flag  further 
and  further  still  up  the  Oubanghi  or  the  Menam. 

His  examination  of  the  enemy's  position  completed,  he 
made  ready  to  go  down.  It  was  getting  cooler.  The  north 
wind,  which  had  risen  at  sundown,  had  driven  away  the 
suffocating  heat.  As  he  reached  the  stairs  he  passed  Leyton 
and  Sidi-Malik.  The  American  was  looking  dreamily  to- 
wards the  wooded  mountains.  Jarchin  hurried  by  with  a 
grave  salute.  He  knew  that  the  painter  nursed  a  grief  of 
his  own,  but  it  was  not  at  this  moment  that  his  sympathy 
could  lighten  another  man's  burden. 

Sidi-Malik,  in  a  frenzy  of  rage  and  grief,  with  the  unac- 
countable violence  of  Oriental  grief,  had  made  the  painter 
acquainted  with  the  story  of  d'Ornano's  capture.  He  had 
not  spared  him  a  detail  of  the  torment  in  store  for  the 
Corsican,  pitiless  in  his  frightful  description  of  what  the 
poor  flesh  would  have  to  endure  before  death  would  be 
allowed  to  do  its  merciful  work.  Leyton  knew  that  his 
friend  would  to-morrow  be  a  nameless  thing,  a  shapeless 
body  still  alive.  And  it  was  upon  him  that  the  task  of 
breaking  the  news  to  Gisele  had  fallen. 


390        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

A  premonition  of  coming  disaster  had  contracted  the 
heart  of  the  young  woman  at  the  moment  her  eyes  caught 
d'Ornano's  last  glance.  Careless  of  the  shelter  provided 
by  the  tree  trunks,  she  had  made  an  attempt  at  following 
the  storming  party,  savagely  scratching  Capo  di  Borgo 
who  had  been  compelled  to  use  force  to  hold  her  back. 
Upon  the  painter  who,  later  in  the  afternoon,  had  found 
her  in  a  state  of  feverish  excitement,  almost  on  the  verge 
of  nervous  collapse,  she  had  heaped  accusations  and 
reproaches.  It  was  due  to  him  if,  immediately  after  the 
departure  from  Figuig,  d'Ornano's  susceptibilities  had 
been  wounded;  to  him  if  a  misunderstanding  had  arisen; 
to  him  if,  in  the  foolhardiness  born  of  his  jealousy,  the 
Corsican  had  conceived  the  plan  of  capturing  the  farm 
with  an  insufficient  number  of  men. 

Since  then  the  American  could  not  bring  himself  to 
speak.  Too  generous  to  argue  the  point,  he  had  preferred 
to  admit  that  he  had  acted  the  part  of  the  interloper.  All 
the  irritation  he  had  felt  against  d'Ornano  was  now  gone 
and  he  suffered  keenly  from  the  thought  that  the  last  words 
he  had  exchanged  with  his  friend  had  been  charged  with 
rancor.  It  seemed  as  if  the  approach  of  death,  wiping  out 
the  remembrance  of  an  injustice,  had  also  dimmed  the 
image  of  the  woman  who  had  stood  between  the  Corsican 
and  himself.  The  scenes  of  torture  evoked  by  Sidi-Malik 
had  contracted  his  throat.  Damn  it  all !  Sidi-Malik  had 
sworn  to  disembowel  the  one-eyed  chieftain  and  fill  his 
belly  with  stones.  Could  it  be  that  civilized  conventions 
could  prevent  him,  Leyton,  from  joining  the  Berber  and, 
if  opportunity  came,  from  properly  avenging  his  friend  ? 
His  was  not  the  mood  for  nice  distinctions.     His  ferocity 


THE   THOUGHTS   OF  THE  NIGHT-WATCH         391 

was  aroused.  He  felt,  leavening  in  his  bosom,  surging  and 
threatening,  countless  ancestral  longings,  the  accumulated 
hatreds  of  primeval  progenitors. 

Sleep  came  to  Sidi-Malik  as  his  companion  was  still 
brooding.  Stars  arose,  ascended  and  disappeared.  The 
freshness  and  fragrance  of  the  night  increased  with  the 
flight  of  the  hours.  Twice  Leyton  heard  the  chorus  of 
Moslems  in  prayer.  Bivouac  fires  dwindled  and  died  on 
the  hillsides.  A  wonderful  silence,  the  quiet  of  countries 
where  man  is  weaker  than  nature,  slowly  glided  down  from 
the  hilltops,  settled  over  the  battle-field  and  dispensed  the 
freshness  of  dew  to  the  parched  dead  lips  blackened  and 
swollen  in  the  sunshine.  For  a  while  the  smell  of  dead 
flesh  which  has  not  yet  begun  to  decay,  the  mawkish  efflu- 
vium of  bloodless  meats  which  permeates  slaughter- 
houses, lost  itself  in  the  strong  wind.  His  jaws  set  and  his 
unseeing  eyes  fixed  straight  ahead,  the  American  kept 
on  indulging  in  thoughts  of  torments  and  death.  Books 
had  made  him  acquainted  with  the  hellish  ingenuity  of 
tormentors.  Crucifixion,  scalp-taking,  horse-quartering, 
elephant- trampling;  it  was  hard  which  to  choose  for  Bou- 
Amel.  Chinese  refinements  of  cruelty  seemed  especially  de- 
vised to  rack  the  Saharan  chieftain  to  the  pitch  of  exquisite 
agony.  Hair-plucking,  nail-tearing  must  also  be  delightful 
and  reasonably  safe.  With  care,  death  would  be  avoided 
a  long  time.  And  then  there  were  Assyrian  and  Cartha- 
ginian tortures :  Moloch,  resplendent  with  white  heat,  filling 
the  temple  with  the  smoke  and  smell  of  burning  flesh. 
There  was  the  cask  filled  with  nails  in  which  the  body  was 
made  to  roll  downhill.  There  were  also  the  wheel,  the 
brodequin,  all  the  torments  born  of  inquisitorial  insanity. 


392        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

Had  he  been  able  to  take  a  healthy  view  of  his  case,  he 
would  not  have  failed  to  despise  himself. 

The  dawning  of  another  day  brought  him  work  enough 
to  compel  the  temporary  setting  aside  of  morbid  fancies. 
Beginning  at  sunrise,  Bou-Amel,  who  evidently  had  some 
reason  for  hurry,  made  a  determined  attempt  to  gain  pos- 
session of  the  farm.  All  day  long  he  pushed  forward 
tribe  after  tribe,  goum  after  goum.  From  besiegers  the 
French  had  become  besieged.  Protected  by  strong  walls, 
their  task  was  comparatively  an  easy  one;  but  everybody 
had  to  take  a  rifle,  even  the  hospital  attendants.  Only 
twice  in  thirteen  hours,  when  the  farm  was  too  closely 
pressed,  did  Captain  Lesueur  bring  his  guns  into  action, 
and  this  only  to  clear  the  open  space  between  the  fig  trees 
and  the  buildings.  Ammunition  for  cannon  was  fast 
running  short,  and  Jarchin,  mindful  that  in  the  near 
future  a  time  would  come  when  he  would  have  to  strain 
every  nerve  to  complete  Bou-Amers  defeat,  had  decided  in 
favor  of  a  policy  of  economy.  Ammunition  for  rifles  and 
machine-guns  he  had  in  plenty;  but  the  caissons  told 
another  story.  Moreover,  so  long  as  he  would  have  to  deal 
with  a  foe  who  approached  under  cover  of  a  wood,  it  was 
best  to  rely  on  the  skill  of  his  marksmen. 

Bou-Amel's  losses  were  in  direct  proportion  to  the  num- 
ber of  men  he  brought  in  the  field.  He  was  either  too 
impatient,  too  distrustful  of  his  followers  as  individual 
fighters  or  too  ignorant  of  modern  methods  to  attempt  to 
recover  the  farm  by  the  process  d'Ornano  had  employed 
to  gain  it.  He  either  believed  in  the  tactics  of  attacks  in 
mass  or  thought  that  he  had  lives  to  spare.  The  slaughter 
the  besieged  made  of  his  men  proved  so  frightful  that 


THE   THOUGHTS  OF  THE   NIGHT-WATCH         393 

Jarchin  began  to  conceive  serious  fears.  At  three  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon  he  directed  that  nobody  should  continue 
to  shoot  to  kill.  The  number  of  corpses  was  now  so  great 
and  the  stench  which  arose  from  the  campi  putridi  so 
fetid  that  it  was  a  question  whether  the  defenders  would 
not  have,  two  or  three  days  hence,  to  leave  the  farm  and 
take  their  chance  in  the  open  rather  than  face  the  horrors 
of  a  pestilence.  Bou-Amel  had  neglected  to  remove  even 
bodies  which  were  well  within  his  reach.  The  fact  was 
significant.  Moghrabis  have  such  respect  for  their  dead, 
and  burial,  in  ordinary  conditions,  follows  death  so  closely, 
that  the  carelessness  displayed  in  this  instance  warranted 
the  suspicion  that  the  Maddhi,  finding  himself  unable  to 
enter  the  farm  by  stealth  or  main  force,  had  deliberately 
planned  to  infect  the  atmosphere  breathed  by  the  small 
body  of  defenders. 

Questioned  as  to  his  ability  to  deal  with  pestilence  by 
resorting  to  chemicals,  Farlede  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
He  had  nothing  but  chloride  of  lime.  This  he  used 
liberally,  to  everybody's  discomfort.  But  the  inadequacy 
of  the  palliative  became  evident  as  soon  as  the  breeze  began 
to  blow  from  the  north,  as  it  did  every  evening.  The  day 
had  been  hot,  and  the  stench  was  at  sunset  absolutely 
nauseating.  Farlede  explained  that  the  horrible  smell 
was,  however,  less  a  danger  than  an  inconvenience.  Be- 
sieged cities  had  borne  with  putrefaction  for  a  considerable 
length  of  time.  As  long  as  the  men  would  have  pure  water 
and  a  sufficient  allowance  of  healthy  food  and  sleep,  they 
would  find  in  themselves  the  means  of  combating  disease. 
Fly-bites,  liable  to  cause  blood-poisoning,  were  alone  to  be 
dreaded.     He   cautioned    the   men   against   carelessness, 


394        IN  THE    WAKE    OF   THE    GREEN   BANNER 

enjoining  them  to  come  to  him  and  submit  to  the  knife  for 
the  least  sting;  meanwhile,  he  took  every  precaution  he 
could  think  of  to  rid  the  farm  of  insect  life. 

At  one  o'clock  in  the  morning  every  man  had  to  get  up 
to  repulse  a  night  attack.  It  was  short,  shorter  perhaps 
than  the  encounter  of  the  preceding  night,  but  of  unusual 
fierceness.  The  recklessness  with  which  Bou-Amel  threw 
lives  away  caused  Jarchin  to  marvel.  He  admitted,  with 
something  amounting  to  envy,  that  no  Caucasian  troops 
would  put  up  with  such  losses  and  return  so  doggedly  to  the 
attack.  How  Bou-Amel,  after  such  a  series  of  unparalleled 
disasters,  managed  to  keep  his  hold  on  the  minds  of  his 
people  puzzled  him.  The  eloquence  of  the  chieftain  must 
be  of  the  highest  order  to  command  among  his  sectaries 
such  unshaken  belief  in  ultimate  success.  Although  this 
was  the  first  time  Jarchin  fought  on  North  African  soil, 
he  had  in  the  course  of  the  campaign  collected  enough 
data  to  gain  at  least  a  partial  comprehension  of  the  Moslem. 
He  knew  that  these  people,  always  prompt  to  answer  a 
call  to  arms,  readily  resign  themselves  to  defeat,  believing 
that  Allah  is  punishing  them  for  their  sins.  Bou-Amers 
Moslems,  however,  evinced  a  stubbornness  of  purpose  and 
a  loftiness  of  spirit  which  would  have  done  credit  to  any 
Caucasian  troops.  Was  the  reason  to  be  sought  in  the 
fact  that  the  Saharan  chieftain  had  convinced  his  followers 
that  they  would  exhaust  the  strength  and  patience  of  their 
foes;  or  was  it  that  the  fierce  spirit  of  the  never-tamed 
Berber  had  at  last  engendered  a  racial  consciousness,  a 
national  awakening  ? 

The  rest  of  the  night  passed  without  alarms.  Jarchin, 
the  last  to  leave  the  walls,  felt  so  utterly  exhausted  that, 


THE  THOUGHTS  OF  THE  NIGHT-WATCH         395 

before  lying  down  for  a  well-earned  rest,  he  gave  orders 
that  he  was  not  to  be  disturbed  for  anything  short  of  an 
attack.  As  a  consequence,  when  daylight  returned,  he  was 
not  told  that  the  wood  of  fig  trees  had  been  evacuated  by 
the  besiegers.  Lieutenant  Capo  di  Borgo,  then  in  com- 
mand, made  the  discovery.  A  quick  survey  of  the  sur- 
roundings assured  him  that  the  evacuation  of  the  wood 
did  not  imply  that  Bou-Amel  had  at  last  resolved  to  move 
on  Mascara,  for  he  still  occupied  all  his  positions  at  the 
entrance  of  the  pass.  However,  it  spoke  eloquently  of  the 
chieftain's  weariness.  Of  course,  the  Moslems  would 
return;  but,  as  long  as  they  kept  away,  the  defenders  could 
sleep.  Taking  upon  himself  the  responsibility  for  the  act, 
di  Borgo  posted  new  sentries,  undertaking  at  the  same 
time  to  fill  Serral's  place  for  the  next  two  hours. 

Gradually  the  sun  rose,  eating  little  by  little  the  patches 
of  blue  shade  still  loitering  at  the  bottom  of  the  glens  on 
the  hillsides.  Behind  the  farm,  the  rolling  ground  was  a 
perfect  solitude  of  palmettos  and  thapsias.  In  front,  the 
pass  of  A"in-Guergour  afforded  a  glimpse  of  the  foot-hills 
beyond  which  stood  Cacherou  and  the  plain  of  Egris. 
The  main  body  of  Bou  AmePs  army  was  encamped  there, 
unable  to  retreat  southward  and  unwilling  to  trust  itself 
to  the  flat  country  lying  to  the  north.  At  six  o'clock  Capo 
di  Borgo  caught  sight  of  a  white  speck  issuing  from  the 
shadow  which  filled  the  pass.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  went 
by.  The  speck  became  two  horsemen  and  a  man  on  foot. 
They  disappeared  a  minute  in  a  gully.  When  he  saw  them 
again,  they  were  within  rifle  range,  and  one  of  the  horsemen 
was  waving  a  piece  of  white  cloth.  The  Lieutenant  ran 
for  a  spy-glass. 


396   IN  THE  WAKE  OF  THE  GREEN  BANNER 

When  he  came  back  the  newcomers  had  nearly  reached 
the  fig  trees.  At  this  distance  it  was  not  even  necessary 
to  use  a  glass  to  make  sure  that  they  carried  a  flag  of  truce. 
The  two  horsemen  were  natives.  But  the  Lieutenant's 
heart  gave  a  leap  as  he  recognized  the  third  man. 

"  Cosa  c'e?  Corpo  di  Christo  !  "  he  ejaculated  in  Corsican 
dialect.  .  .  .  "Pobadjeski,  go  and  call  Captain  Jarchin. 
Wake  everybody.  You,  Weinshwurtz,  blow  me  the 
proper  tune.  I  don't  care  which,  but  be  sure  you  raise  the 
dead.  Lord,  O  Lord!  I  guess  I'll  get  drunk  after  this!" 
He  made  an  irruption  among  the  sleepers,  shouting  as  he 
went,  "Wake  up,  there,  you  loafers,  or  I  kick.  Wake  up! 
Wake  up!     Commandant  d'Ornano  is  coming  back!" 

Weinshwurtz,  thinking  it  would  only  be  proper  to  call 
the  officers  first,  took  up  the  tune  of  the"  Critique,"  blowing 
like  mad: 

Lieutenants,  Capitaines,  Commandants, 
L'Colonel  vous  attend; 
L'Colonel  vous  attend. 

He  made  the  reveille,  then  the  roll-call,  follow  this.  La- 
vardie,  a  trumpeter  of  artillery,  had  by  this  time  collected 
his  wits.  He  sent  flying  up  in  the  bright  morning  sky  the 
jubilant  notes  of  the  "Boots  and  Saddles": 

Allons,  artilleurs  vite  en  selle. 

Formez  vos  joyeux  escadrons. 
Que  chacun  embrasse  sa  belle; 
Et  vite,  a  cheval,  nous  partons. 
Et  vite,  a  cheval,  nous  partons, 

A  cheval,  nous  partons. 

A  cheval,  nous  partons. 

Meanwhile,  Weinshwurtz  was  going  through  an  unlimited 
number  of  performances,  summoning  the  sergeants  and 


THE   THOUGHTS   OF  THE   NIGHT-WATCH  397 

blowing  the  calls  to  "Arms"  and  "Fire."  Lavardie 
bethought  himself  that  all  this  still  left  the  doctor  and  the 
hospital  men  out.     He  took  up  the  "Visite": 

Non,  monsieur  le  Major, 

J'n'irai  plus, 
J'n'irai  plus  courir  la  pre'tentaine. 
Non,  monsieur  le  Major, 

J'n'irai  plus, 
J'n'irai  plus  courir  quand  j'ai  trop  bu. 

He  was  barely  through  when  Captain  Jarchin,  only  half 
clad,  made  his  appearance  in  the  court-yard.  He  had  his 
look  of  stormy  days.  Di  Borgo  stiffened  and  came  to 
attention.     Men  were  now  pouring  in  from  all  parts. 

"What  in  thunder  does  this  mean,  Capo?"  snapped  the 
Captain.     "Have  these  idiots  gone  mad,  or  have  you ?" 

"Mad?  Not  I,"  the  Lieutenant  retorted.  "I  sent 
Pobadjeski  to  tell  you  that  Commandant  d'Ornano  was 
coming  back." 

Jarchin  had  not  seen  Pobadjeski.     He  stopped  dead. 

"What's  that  ?    D'Ornano  coming  back,  did  you  say  ?" 

"Dislodge  that  gun  and  open  that  gate,  men!"  di  Borgo 
resumed.     "  You  will  see  for  yourself,  sir." 

In  a  twinkle  the  heavy  panels  swung  around.  Jarchin 
passed  the  gate.  There,  sure  enough,  at  the  edge  of  the 
wood,  stood  d'Ornano.  He  was  alone;  the  two  horsemen 
had  been  left  on  the  road.  The  Corsican  made  a  friendly 
gesture  and  began  climbing  the  slope.  A  rousing  cheer 
went  up. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

A  CORSICAN  REGULUS 

When  its  echo  had  died  the  Captain  raised  his  arm  and 
shouted,  "  Rassemblement!"  The  men  took  their  ranks. 
Order  and  expectant  silence  prevailed.  D'Ornano  came 
climbing  slowly,  as  uncertain  in  his  progress  as  a  drunken 
man.  Jarchin  saw  at  a  glance  that  something  was  wrong. 
He  frowned.  A  sickly  smile  illuminated  the  features  of 
the  Corsican  when  he  came  abreast  of  the  first  men.  He 
saluted.     Fifteen  seconds  later  he  passed  the  gate. 

"Send  the  men  away,  Jarchin,"  he  said,  "and  have 
them  prepare  for  parade.  Captain  Lesueur  will  see  that 
they  are  ready  in  an  hour.  Come  with  me.  I  have  to 
speak  to  you.     Where  is  Leyton  ?" 

"Still  asleep,  I  suppose;  although  I  don't  see  how  he  can 
manage  it.  De  Plassieux,  go  and  fetch  me  Mr.  Leyton." 
They  went  a  few  steps  in  silence  "Good  God!  man, 
what's  the  matter  with  you?  You  seem  entirely  worn 
out." 

D'Ornano  sighed  and  shook  his  head. 

"Oh,  I  won't  be  worn  out  long,"  he  replied.     "How  do 

you  suppose  a  man  feels  when  he  has  been  without  sleep 

for  fifty-two  hours — it  was  at  twelve,  you  remember,  that 

I  took  the  watch — and  has  been  made  to  walk  the  ground 

between  two  horsemen  for  the  last  thirty-six?" 

398 


A  CORSICAN  REGULUS  399 

"For  Heaven's  sake!"  Jarchin  exclaimed.  "Is  this 
what  Bou-Amel  kept  in  store  for  you?  Then  you  must 
not  stay  here.  Come  up-stairs  and  lie  down.  I  will  post- 
pone the  parade.  Let  me  help  you.  I  will  have  my  bed 
ready  for  you  in  a  moment." 

"Thanks.  But  I  am  afraid  that,  much  as  I  would  enjoy 
it,  I  cannot  sleep  yet.  I  passed  my  word.  .  .  .  Ah,  here 
comes  Ley  ton!     And  Sidi-Malik,  too,  bless  my  soul!" 

The  painter's  glance  betrayed  so  much  wonder  and 
apprehension,  as  he  critically  eyed  his  friend,  that  d'Ornano 
laughed. 

"Good-morning,  Ley  ton,"  he  said  cheerfully.  "You 
need  not  look  at  me  like  that.  I  am  still  whole.  Did  you 
believe  I  had  risen  from  the  dead  ?  .  .  .  Salaam  aleikoum, 
thou  Sidi-Malik,  son  of  Hachem.  No,  Bou-Amel  has  not 
tortured  me  yet,  and  we  will  break  his  neck  to-morrow. 
Thou  wilt  learn  later  what  he  did  to  me;  Ley  ton  will  tell. 
Rohfissa,  now!  I  have  to  speak  to  the  Captain  and  to  Sidi 
Le'itoun." 

A  native  never  discusses  orders;  so  Sidi-Malik  went. 
The  three  men  went  up-stairs  and  entered  the  room  Jarchin 
shared  with  Captain  Lesueur.  There  were  two  beds,  a 
kitchen  table  and  two  chairs.  D'Ornano  took  one  of  these, 
offering  the  second  to  Leyton.  Jarchin  repaired  hastily 
the  disorder  of  his  toilet  and  sat  down  on  one  of  the  beds. 
For  a  minute  they  kept  silent,  the  painter  and  the  Captain 
scrutinizing  the  impassible  face  of  the  Corsican. 

"I  suppose,  Jarchin,"  d'Ornano  said  at  length,  "that  I 
cannot  make  a  better  beginning  than  by  congratulating 
you  for  the  stubbornness  of  your  defence.  Were  I  a  little 
less  tired,  I  might  criticise  it  point  by  point  and  end  by 


400        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

complimenting  you  on  all  your  moves.  As  it  is,  I  have 
seen  the  results,  and  they  are  better  than  I  hoped  for.  I 
suppose  you  managed  to  bring  all  your  wounded  inside 
the  defences?" 

"Yes,  Commandant.    Every  one  of  them." 

"How  many  men  have  you  lost  since  my  capture?" 

"Three  killed;  twelve  wounded.  One  of  these  will 
die;  the  others  will  recover,  if  I  am  to  believe  Farlede. 
We  are  taking  unusual  precautions  against  infection." 

"Under  the  present  conditions  it  is  wise.  Happily, 
your  plight  will  not  be  of  long  duration.  What  about 
ammunition  and  food  ?" 

"We  still  have  four  days'  rations,  not  counting  hard- 
tack. We  found  a  good  many  things  here.  Rifle  ammuni- 
tion we  have  in  plenty,  and  this  will  also  do  for  machine- 
guns.  As  for  shells,  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  there  are  not 
enough  of  them  to  fire  two  hundred  shots. 

"  Oh,  it  is  not  so  bad,  then.  I  was  afraid  there  was  noth- 
ing left.  Keep  all  you  can.  You  will  need  all  you  can 
spare  before  thirty-six  hours." 

"Why?  Have  you  any  reason  to  believe  that  another 
attack  will  be  made?" 

"I  don't  think  so.  Bou-Amel  is  crippled  for  good. 
Next  time  you  fight  you  will  do  the  attacking." 

There  was  another  silence.     Jarchin  broke  it. 

"I  confess,  d'Ornano,  that  I  do  not  understand,"  he 
said.  "What  do  you  mean  by  'you  will  need  all  you  can 
spare'?  'You  will  do  the  attacking'  ?  Am  I  to  infer  that 
you  are  not  going  to  resume  command  ?  Surely  that  rogue 
has  not  poisoned  you?" 

The  Corsican's  smile  reappeared.     "As  yet,  he  has  not," 


A  CORSICAN  REGULUS  401 

he  admitted;  and  he  added,  as  if  the  thing  was  of  no  conse- 
quence, "But  I  am  going  back." 

Jarchin  was  thunderstruck.  "Going  back?"  he  said. 
"Why?" 

Instead  of  the  direct  answer  he  anticipated,  a  sarcasm 
came. 

"Look  at  the  map,  Jarchin.  This  country  is,  has  been 
and  will  be  Moghrib  for  a  long  time,  even  if  you  don't 
know  it.  Where  did  you  get  the  notion  that  Bou-Amel  is 
the  man  to  let  go  what  has  once  fallen  into  his  clutches. 
Sidi-Malik  might  post  you  on  that  subject.  What  do  you 
think  I  came  here  for?" 

"I  have  been  asking  myself  that  question  for  the  last 
quarter  of  an  hour." 

"Well,  I  was  sent  to  offer  you  terms.  Provided  you 
deliver  into  Bou-Amers  hands  Leyton,  Sidi-Malik  and 
Mile,  de  Diolie,  and  bind  yourself  not  to  hamper  the 
retreat  of  the  Moslem  troops,  I  resume  command.  Is  this 
clear?" 

Jarchin  stared  at  him  in  blank  astonishment. 

"Surely,"  he  said,  "you  did  not  come  here  to  tell  me 
that?" 

"  Perhaps  not.  Nevertheless,  I  would  like  to  know  what 
Leyton  has  to  answer." 

Under  his  searching  glance,  the  American  paled  first, 
then  became  very  red.  However,  he  quickly  recovered 
his  composure. 

"Come  on,  d'Ornano,"  he  said  gently.  "No  such 
jokes  between  us.  I  know  you  did  not  come  here  to  barter 
away  the  lives  of  your  friends  and  the  honor  of  a  woman. 
And  you  know  just  as  well  that,  personally,  I  stand  ready 


402        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

to  share  your  risks.  I  will  let  Sidi-Malik  make  the  same 
answer  for  himself.  If  I  can  help  you  in  anything,  tell  me 
how.     What  do  you  expect  from  us  ?  " 

The  Corsican  stood  up,  no  longer  weary, — transfigured. 
He  unpinned  the  cross  of  the  Legion  d'Honneur  which 
shone  on  his  breast. 

"From  you,  Leyton,"  he  said  slowly,  "that  you  will 
carry  this  to  my  father,  in  Calvi,  with  the  undying  love  of 
his  son.  From  Sidi-Malik,  that  he  will  recover  and  bury 
my  corpse.  From  Jarchin  and  my  men  that  they  will 
avenge  me.     I  am  going  back  to  Bou-Amel." 

The  three  of  them  were  up  now.  Leyton,  deadly  pale, 
took  the  cross  without  a  word.  The  Captain  was  purple 
with  emotion  and  anger.  He  kicked  the  table  so  violently 
in  one  leg  that  he  knocked  it  down. 

"Thunder  and  damnation!"  he  roared.  "What  is  this 
comedy?  Are  you  crazy?  Why  in  hell  did  you  pass 
your  word  to  that  scoundrel?  Do  you  believe  that 
I  will  be  bound  by  that?  You  stay  here,  d'Ornano. 
Even  if  I  have  to  put  you  in  irons  to  accomplish  my 
purpose,  I  will  manage  to  keep  you  here.  The  men 
will  obey  me  in  as  clear  a  case  of  attempted  suicide  as 
this." 

"And  you  will  be  court-mar tialled  for  it,  Captain  Jar- 
chin,"  snapped  the  Corsican.  "Let  me  remind  you  that 
you  are  about  to  disregard  the  orders  of  a  superior." 

"  I  have  no  superiors  here,"  Jarchin  retorted.  "  I  am  in 
command  since  your  capture.  You  came  here  to  treat. 
I  decline  your  terms  and  I  deal  with  you  as  I  please.  If 
I  break  faith  with  somebody,  that  is  my  own  business,  not 
yours.    Technically,  you  are  a  prisoner  of  war." 


A  CORSICAN  REGULUS  403 

It  was  d'Ornano's  turn  to  pale.  There  was  a  silence. 
Tears  of  humiliation  came  in  his  eyes.  But  before  he  had 
shed  them,  Jarchin  caught  hold  of  both  his  hands. 

"Forgive  me,"  he  pleaded.  "I  did  not  mean  that,  and 
I  should  not  have  said  it.  I  apologize.  I  shall  only  be  too 
glad  to  see  you  resume  command  at  once.  Just  tell  me 
that  you  are  not  going  back." 

"  I  am  going  back,  since  I  gave  my  word." 

"You  gave  it  under  pressure,"  interrupted  Leyton.  "It 
is  not  binding." 

"That's  casuistry,"  the  Corsican  replied.  "I  would 
have  to  admit  that  pressure  can  be  brought  upon  me,  which 
I  deny.  Being  what  I  am,  a  Corsican,  I  am  the  master 
of  a  free  will.  We  have  traditions  in  my  island.  A  word 
passed  is  a  word  passed,  no  matter  where  nor  under  what 
circumstances." 

"You  have  only  the  mistaken  notions  of  honor  preva- 
lent among  your  kin,"  the  American  replied  bitterly. 
"I  am  enough  your  friend  to  tell  you  this  without  giving 
offence.  Your  so  much  vaunted  honor  reduces  itself  to 
exaggerated  egotism.  All  Corsicans  would  fain  give  their 
lives  to  earn  the  right  of  worshipping  themselves.  Wake 
up,  and  try  to  judge  sanely  for  once,  you  fool.  Do  you  fail 
to  realize  that  the  saying  of  Kipling  is  true  of  your  kind : 
'  there  is  too  much  ego  in  your  cosmos '  ?  " 

"Perhaps  there  is.  We  do  not  claim  to  be  angels  in 
Corsica.     We  are  men." 

"But  that  is  not  even  the  point,"  Jarchin  interrupted. 
"The  fact  is  that  you  have  engaged  your  faith  to  an  enemy 
himself  faithless.  Bou-Amel  was  bound  by  the  agreement 
entered  into  with  Abd-er-Rhaman.    He  broke  a  truce. 


404        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

Your  going  back  in  these  conditions  is  an  instance  of 
gigantic  tomfoolery,  I  call  it." 

"Hold  on,"  interrupted  d'Ornano.  "That's  casuistry 
again.  I  hold  that  we  are  bound  to  be  faithful  even  in  the 
presence  of  faithlessness.  But  there  is  something  more. 
Bou-Amel  warned  me.  I  will  not  admit  that  he  had  not  a 
perfect  right  to  pursue  a  personal  vendetta  regardless  of 
Abd-er-Rhaman's  word.  Furthermore,  I  wanted  him  to 
attack  me.     It  afforded  me  a  fine  opportunity  to  lick  him." 

"Nevertheless,  and  although  you  deny  it,  you  passed 
your  word  under  compulsion.  In  your  present  physical 
condition  you  are  not  fit  to  make  a  binding  engagement. 
The  proof  of  my  contention  is  easily  given.  No  man  of 
your  character,  holding  personal  honor  in  as  high  a  regard 
as  you  do,  would,  in  his  normal  state,  carry  such  terms  of 
surrender  as  you  have  done.  I  know  that  you  never 
intended  that  a  bargain  should  be  entered  into,  d'Ornano. 
Still,  you  gave  Bou-Amel  the  satisfaction  of  believing  that 
dishonorable  terms  might  be  accepted  by  us." 

The  Corsican's  eyes  flashed  with  anger,  perhaps  pride. 

"You  lie,  Jarchin,"  he  shouted  frantically.  "You  lie, 
damn  you,  and  you  know  it.  No  man  who  saw  me  at 
work  as  long  as  you  did  should  speak  such  words.  Yes,  it  is 
true  that  I  was  eager  to  come  back,  eager  to  see,  before  I 
died,  what  I  had  done  to  that  camel.  The  rotten  carcasses 
of  his  soldiers  smell  awfully  good  to  me,  by  God!  It  is 
true  that  I  wanted  to  give  my  cross  to  Leyton.  After  all, 
I  am  also  a  man,  and  I  have  an  old  father.  But  all  this  I 
should  have  foregone  had  not  a  stronger  reason  brought 
me  here.  Abd-er-Rhaman  is  beaten.  I  came  to  tell  you 
that" 


A  CORSICAN  REGULUS  405 

A  dead  silence  followed.     Jarchin  hid  his  face. 

"Come  on,  Jarchin,"  d'Ornano  resumed.  "It  is  my 
turn  to  apologize.  I  had  no  sooner  spoken  than  I  realized 
that  you  never  meant  to  insult  me." 

"Let  it  go  at  that,  then,"  the  Captain  replied.  "We 
have  much  to  forgive  each  other  to-day,  I  am  afraid. 
What  about  Abd-er-Rhaman?" 

D'Ornano  smiled.  His  tone  instantly  fell  on  a  lower 
key,  and  he  resumed  in  his  usual  mild  manner: 

"The  knowledge  of  his  defeat  came  to  me  from  the  lips 
of  a  woman.  I  already  told  you  something  of  Djeilma, 
I  believe.  Leyton  and  Sidi-Malik  can  tell  you  more  about 
her.  As  she  is  much  interested  in  our  friend  here,  she 
managed  to  have  me  brought  by  the  chaouchs  to  the  place 
where  she  waited.  Now  she  wants  Bou-Amel  murdered  or 
tortured.  He  had  her  beaten,  because  she  made  an  attempt 
to  escape,  and  she  wants  Leyton  to  go  to  her  rescue.  I 
gave  her  hope  in  strong  doses.  In  return,  I  enjoyed  two 
hours  comparative  rest  and  I  learned  what  I  wanted.  She 
is  a  regular  little  witch." 

"What  did  she  have  to  say  about  the  battle  in  progress  ?" 
insisted  the  Captain. 

"Many  things  that  surprised  me.  Si-Hamza  is  doing 
well,  if  I  am  to  believe  her  story.  This  is  probably  due  to 
the  extreme  mobility  of  his  cavalry.  But  General  des 
Essarts  stopped  his  advance  between  Les  Aissias  and  Ain- 
Fares.  General  Dusseau,  on  the  other  hand,  has  checked 
Abd-er-Rhaman  at  Crevecceur.  General  Pellegrin,  com- 
ing from  Perregaux^  threatens  him  in  the  rear  and  will 
compel  a  retrograde  movement.  I  also  believe  that 
General  Marchel  is  coming  with  troops  from  Relizane, 


406        IN  THE   WAKE  OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

Mostaganem  and  Arzew.  This  will  compel  Si-Hamza  to 
turn  back." 

"And  what  will  happen  next?" 

"Next!  .  .  .  Marchel  and  Pellegrin  will  execute  a 
turning  movement  to  compel  Abd-er-Rhaman  to  retreat  by 
way  of  Mercier-Lacombe.  If  Dusseau  is  wise,  he  will 
strain  every  nerve  to  occupy  the  Traria  road,  to  the  west 
of  us." 

"And  we  will  have  Bou-Amel  and  Si-Hamza  caught 
between  des  Essarts,  Dusseau  and  ourselves.  Good! 
This  is  glorious.     We  hold  the  road!" 

"You  do,  Jarchin,  and  not  a  rascal  will  return  home. 
I  may  be  as  good  as  dead;  yet  nobody  can  take  from  me 
the  glory  of  having  planned  the  move.  I  am  going  to  do 
what  I  can  to  help  you  win  to-morrow's  fight.  I  may  be 
able  to  fire  the  men  with  new  courage.     Call  them,  will 

you?" 

Again  the  Captain  hesitated. 

"No,"  he  said.  "Think  it  over.  You  are  not  going 
back." 

"I  would  go  back  if  God  Almighty  stood  on  the  road," 
the  Corsican  swore  with  a  tremendous  gesture.  "Go, 
Jarchin.  You  would  not  have  it  said  that  Colonna  d'Or- 
nano  ate  his  word  to  save  his  life." 

The  pride  in  the  man's  eyes  was  infernal.  Seeing  that 
no  room  was  left  for  discussion,  Jarchin  went  downstairs. 
Leyton  and  d'Ornano  exchanged  a  long  glance. 

"  I  owe  you  an  apology  for  my  behavior  of  the  day  before 
yesterday,"  the  Corsican  resumed.  "I  also  owe  an  apol- 
ogy to  Mile,  de  Diolie.    Will  you  undertake  to  .  .  . " 

He  stopped,  flushed  to  the  ears.     It  seemed  as  if  a 


A  CORSICAN  REGULUS  407 

reference  to  the  woman  he  loved  could  not  pass  this  man's 
lips.     Leyton's  glance  was  very  hard. 

"You  owe  me  nothing,"  he  said,  getting  up  with  sudden 
violence.  "I  am  sorry.  I  am  awfully  sorry  I  interfered. 
If  I  had  remained  in  Figuig,  as  I  first  intended,  nothing 
of  this  would  have  happened.  ...  It  is  hard  to  admit  such 
things,  but  God  knows  that  I  had  long  ago  ceased  to  enter- 
tain a  hope.  You  never  doubted  that  it  was  you  that  she 
loved,  did  you?" 

D'Ornano  made  no  answer. 

"You  won't  see  her,  of  course,"  resumed  the  American. 
"Yes,  I  understand.  .  .  .  She  is  not  strong,  and  I  believe 
it  is  best  to  refrain.  Yet  she  will  never  pardon  me  if  you 
go  without  saying  good-by." 

"She  will  understand  that  on  your  side  also  it  was  a 
sacrifice.  And,  besides,  who  knows  ?  .  .  .  Regrets  are  not 
eternal." 

He  bent  his  head.  These  were  his  last  words.  Leyton 
was  struck  dumb  as  he  discovered  that  this  man,  starving 
for  the  love  and  admiration  of  posterity,  was  devoured  by 
doubt  and  questioned  not  only  the  worth  of  his  sacrifice 
but  even  the  depth  of  feminine  regrets.  He  followed  him 
downstairs.  As  they  appeared  in  the  court-yard,  they 
heard  Jarchin's  command  of  "Garde  a  vous!"  The  front 
gate  had  been  left  open.  While  the  Captain  marched 
his  soldiers  in  and  disposed  them  in  two  files  lining  both 
sides  of  the  entrance,  Leyton  and  d'Ornano  stood  motion- 
less near  the  stairway.  Jarchin's  own  company  of  Colonial 
Infantry  was  the  one  intrusted  with  the  banner.  The  Cap- 
tain placed  the  ensign-bearer  in  such  a  position  that  he  would 
be  the  last  man  d'Ornano  would  pass  in  making  his  exit. 


408        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

The  command  of  "Bayonette  au  canon,"  with  its  subse- 
quent clashing  of  steel,  increased  Leyton's  pallor.  Jarchin's 
voice  was  heard  again,  commanding  "  Portez  Armes." 
D'Ornano  turned  to  his  friend.  The  painter  shook  from 
head  to  foot. 

"And  now,"  the  Corsican  said,  "brace  up  like  a  man 
for  old  sake's  sake.  Remember  the  cross,  will  you  ?  .  .  . 
And  good-by.  For  now  and  forever.  Don't  be  too  hard 
on  my  father  when  you  tell  him  the  story.  Don't  be  too 
hard  on  the  poor  girl  ..." 

He  felt  a  hand  on  his  shoulder.  He  turned  sharply. 
Gisele  stood  before  him. 

As  he  took  hold  of  her  finger  he  quivered  for  the  first 
time.  She  was  the  temptation.  She  was  the  snare  Sidi- 
Malik's  perspicacity  had  opened  under  his  foot.  He 
asked  himself  in  dismay  why  the  being  he  loved  best  in 
the  world  should  also  be  the  enemy  of  the  last  hour. 

For  it  was  the  eternal  duel  that  still  went  on,  and  he 
knew  that  victory  could  only  be  achieved  against  himself. 
The  brutal  idol  he  worshipped  would  have  to  triumph  over 
this  weakness.  In  so  far  as  he  was  concerned,  his  renun- 
ciation had  been  made.  But  all  souls  do  not  equally  accept 
the  idea  of  sacrifice,  and  this  woman  had  no  other  duty 
than  love.  For  thirty  seconds  he  remained  still,  his  glance 
lost  in  her  eyes.  Then,  very  gently,  he  tried  to  free  his 
fingers. 

"You  won't  go,  Monsieur  d'Ornano?"  she  said  appeal- 
ingly.     "You  are  not  going?" 

"How  can  I  stay?"  he  answered.  "You  would  not 
want  me  to  pass  for  a  coward  ?" 

"But  who  would  think  of  calling  you  a  coward?"  she 


A  CORSICAN  REGULUS  409 

pleaded.  "Does  not  everybody  know  you  here?  O  God! 
it  is  not  your  duty  to  which  you  are  listening;  it  is  your 
pride."  She  turned  to  Leyton.  "  George,  please.  Leave 
us  alone  a  moment.  He  must  not  go.  I'll  try.  .  .  .  You 
have  no  right,  Monsieur  d'Ornano.  You  must  beware 
of  self-love.  Remember.  It  was  your  pride  which  made 
you  treat  me  like  a  little  girl  whenever  you  came  to  our 
house  in  Marakesh.  You  did  not  like  me  to  tease  you. 
It  was  your  pride  that  made  you  hold  aloof  at  the  beginning 
of  our  voyage.  It  was  your  pride  that  made  you  dissatis- 
fied with  me  when  we  left  Figuig.  I  know  that  you  were 
not  really  jealous  of  George.  You  only  thought  that,  even 
in  the  presence  of  strangers,  I  ought  to  act  as  if  you  were 
the  only  man  in  the  world.  And  it  was  to  prove  to  me 
that  you  were  also  the  bravest  among  your  soldiers  that  you 
undertook  to  capture  the  farm.  As  if  I  did  not  know!  .  .  . 
If  I  could  have  foreseen  the  end,  I  would  not  have  acted 
as  I  did.  Yet  you  were  wrong  also.  It  was  enough  for 
you  to  know  that  I  loved  you.  Why  should  you  want  me 
to  see  in  you  more  than  a  man?" 

D'Ornano  made  no  answer.  He  again  tried  to  free  his 
hand. 

"You  have  no  right  to  leave  me,"  she  exclaimed  de- 
spairingly. "You  are  not  alone  in  the  world.  What  am 
I  to  do  when  you  are  gone  ?  Won't  you  think  of  me  ?  .  .  . 
I  did  not  give  you  my  love  quite  unbidden.  Did  I  not  try 
to  do  as  you  wanted  ?  Were  you  told  that  in  the  hospital 
I  did  not  do  all  my  duty  ?  .  .  .  Why  should  I  let  you  go  ? 
Shall  I  weep  my  father  and  you  at  the  same  time  ?  And 
why?  Why?  Why?  Between  now  and  the  hour  of 
death  you  will  walk  in  your  greatness;  and  I  shall  pay 


410        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

your  debt  by  a  life  of  misery  .  .  .  Oh,  please.  You  will 
not  leave  me  alone  ?  .  .  .  You  told  me  you  were  not  sure 
of  a  future  life,  Monsieur  d'Ornano.  How  could  you 
then  believe  in  glory?  Remember  your  dream.  'The 
heroes  are  a  name  and  a  handful  of  ashes.'  Is  it  for  that 
that  you  will  sacrifice  both  of  us  ?" 

"I  love  you  and  I  am  sorry,"  the  Corsican  replied.  "I 
wish  you  could  understand ;  but  I  have  no  hope  you  ever 
will.  If  I  throw  my  life  away,  it  is  as  a  challenge  to  the 
beasts  who  feed  close  to  the  ground.  I  laugh  at  the  stupid 
irony  of  the  lesser  gods;  and  I  climb  the  heavens  to  sit 
among  them  and  above  them,  the  statue  of  my  ideal.  So 
much  the  worse  for  mankind  if  it  takes  a  madman  to  believe 
in  duty  for  duty's  sake  and  in  the  sublimity  of  human  will." 

"But  I  did  nothing  to  harm  you.  I  was  ready  to  repair 
in  a  measure  the  injustice  of  destiny.  .  .  .  George!"  she 
screamed.  "George!  .  .  .  Please,  Monsieur  d'Ornano! 
.  .  .  Don't  let  him  go.     Don't!  ...  Oh,  God!" 

D'Ornano  had  torn  himself  away.  Leyton  reached  the 
young  woman  in  time  to  receive  her  fainting  in  his  arms. 
The  Captain  had  already  taken  place  in  the  midst  of  his 
men.  With  dulled  senses,  the  painter  heard  the  voice  of 
the  Captain.  It  was  faint  this  time,  and  came  from  afar, 
from  the  bottom  of  the  nightmare  that  left  him  sick  and 
strengthless,  sweating  with  fear: 

"OuvrezleBan!" 

Bugles  and  drums  he  heard  in  his  dream.  Then  they 
stopped.  D'Ornano's  clear  voice  brought  him  back  to 
consciousness : 

"Captains,  lieutenants,  non-commissioned  officers  and 
privates." 


A  CORSICAN  REGULUS  411 

He  waited.  It  seemed  a  century  before  the  Corsican 
spoke  again: 

"Although  a  prisoner  of  war  and,  as  such,  without  a 
voice  in  council,  I  shall  presume  to  speak  as  your  com- 
mander for  the  last  time.  Sent  here  on  parole,  I  am 
going  back  to  the  camp  of  Bou-Amel.  You  will,  in  the 
name  of  the  President  of  the  Republic,  acknowledge 
Captain  Jarchin  as  your  commander  and  obey  whatever 
orders  he  thinks  fit  to  give  to  insure  the  maintenance  of 
discipline  and  the  respect  due  to  the  tricolor  standard." 

He  paused  a  second,  then  resumed: 

"  You  know  what  the  flag  means,  men.  To  most  of  you 
it  stands  for  the  embodiment  of  the  dreams  of  childhood, 
the  joys  of  the  hearth,  the  patch  of  ground  ploughed  and  re- 
ploughed  by  your  fathers.  To  these  it  is  the  flag  of  Chalons, 
Tolbiac,  Tours,  Bouvines,  Orleans,  Rocroy,  Denain, 
Fontenoy,  Jemmapes  and  Valmy,  to  recall  only  the  vic- 
tories when  the  French,  threatened  in  their  very  existence, 
rose  in  their  might  and  bridled  the  spoilers.  To  others, 
and  among  these  I  count  the  foreign-born,  it  is  a  protection 
that  has  never  failed.  To  all  of  us  it  is  our  pride.  The 
flag  we  carried  away  with  us  from  Figuig  is  still  ours,  and  I 
trust  that,  by  to-morrow,  the  men  who  fought  around  it 
will  be  entitled  to  add  a  new  name  to  the  victories  written 
there  in  gold  letters. 

"I  came  to  tell  you  that  Abd-er-Rhaman  is  beaten;  that 
to-morrow  will  see  the  beginning  of  the  Moslem  retreat. 
Knowing  my  life  to  be  forfeited  in  any  case,  I  availed  my- 
self of  an  opportunity  to  come  here  on  parole  and  con- 
gratulate you  on  the  result.  The  battle  still  in  progress 
to  the  north  of  us  will  be  won.     You  turned   the  tide. 


412        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

You  made  victory  possible  by  drawing  upon  you  the  full 
strength  of  Bou-Amel.  Nine  hundred  you  came  and  eight 
hundred  you  remain.  Behold!  the  plain  you  command 
is  strewn  with  the  corpses  of  more  than  five  thousand 
men. 

"  It  is  well,  fellow-soldiers.  I  am  proud  of  you.  I  lived 
long  enough  to  know  you  well  and  I  am  bound  to  declare 
that  there  never  existed  a  finer  body  of  men.  In  Figuig, 
you  gave  the  French  armies  time  to  concentrate.  In  Bou- 
AmePs  rear  you  made  Abd-er-Rhaman's  success  an  im- 
possibility. For  this  alone  you  should  all  wear  on  your 
breasts  the  cross  of  the  Legion  d'Honneur.  The  reward 
will  soon  come.  But  it  is  your  luck,  soldiers,  your  luck 
that  more  remains  to  be  done.  When,  to-morrow,  Bou- 
Amel,  attacked  by  General  des  Essarts,  will  find  himself 
compelled  to  leave  his  hole,  you  will  stfangle  him  like 
a  fox. 

"But  you  will  do  so  for  our  flag,  not  for  the  satisfaction 
of  your  hatred.  You  will  remember  that  the  same  flag 
protects  the  man  who  surrenders.  Whatever  be  my  fate, 
I  adjure  you  to  keep  present  in  your  memory  that  I  always 
spared  a  fallen  man  and  that,  above  all  else,  I  would  not 
have  it  said  that  d'Ornano,  dying,  urged  his  men  to  become 
the  instruments  of  his  revenge.  If  Bou-Amel  sues  for 
mercy,  grant  it,  and  do  not  dishonor  your  laurels. 

"I  leave  you,  my  brothers,  with  a  task  undone.  I  am 
conscious  of  having  fallen  short  of  the  mark;  but  this,  for 
all  its  bitterness,  is  too  common  in  warfare  to  deserve 
more  than  a  passing  regret.  I  do  not  grudge  Captain 
Jarchin  his  laurels  of  to-morrow.  He  deserves  them  and 
more.     I  grudge  him  only  your  love,  which  will  go  to  him 


A  CORSICAN  REGULUS  413 

when  I  am  gone,  and  when  you  know  him  better.  Try 
to  remember  me,  if  you  can.  Do  your  duty,  all  your  duty, 
and  nothing  but  your  duty.     Good-by!" 

Leyton  was  choking.  He  heard  Jarchin  commanding, 
"Fermez  le  Ban,"  with  an  altered  voice.  Bugles  and 
drums  sounded  again.  Then  came  the  sharp  command 
and  the  clash  of  steel: 

"  Presentez  .  .  .  armes!" 

D'Ornano  was  passing,  erect,  between  two  files  of 
proffered  weapons.  His  moving  blue  shadow  trailing  on 
the  brown  earth  was  something  pitiful  in  its  grotesqueness. 
The  ensign-bearer  lowered  the  banner  at  the  Corsican's 
approach.  D'Ornano  stopped,  saluted,  then  kissed  the 
cloth  and  passed  away  in  the  sunny  stillness. 

"Maillot,"  commanded  Jarchin,  pointing  to  the  tricolor 
which  floated  over  the  farm.  "Go  and  lower  the  flag  to 
half-mast  as  a  sign  of  mourning." 

He  was  fighting  hard  within  himself,  in  deadly  fear  of 
losing  his  composure.  All  the  men  wept.  But  when  he 
saw  d'Ornano  disappear  under  the  fig  trees  he  gave  it  up. 
Letting  his  sword  fall,  he  leaned  against  the  jamb  of  the 
gate  and  began  to  sob  like  a  child. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

SI-HAMZA  REMEMBERS  HIS  OATH 

"It  is  suicidal,"  said  Jarchin,  shrugging  his  shoulders. 
"You  are  a  painter,  not  a  scout.  A  two  months'  stay  in 
the  Sahara  does  not  make  you  Sidi-Malik's  equal  in  an 
undertaking  of  this  kind.  The  fellow  is  conversant  with 
nearly  every  North  African  dialect.  He  is  swift  of  foot, 
handy  with  his  knives,  his  resourcefulness  has  no  limit 
and  he  seems  to  possess  a  real  genius  for  disguise.  Let 
him  go  alone  then.  There  is  no  use  in  trying  to  keep 
him  here.  He  is  beside  himself  with  frenzy,  and  if  I  don't 
allow  him  to  pass  the  gate  he  will  escape  by  knifing  some 
of  my  men.  But  you  are  not  quite  deaf  to  the  voice  of 
reason,  I  imagine.  What  do  you  propose  to  do?  You 
will  only  furnish  Bou-Amel  with  another  victim." 

He  saw  Capo  di  Borgo  coming  to  report  on  the  round 
he  had  just  made.  The  Lieutenant  stopped  a  few  yards 
away.     Leaving  Ley  ton,  Jarchin  went  to  him. 

"Anything  new?" 

"I  found  Lamar-ben-Sliman  asleep  at  his  post,"  the 
Lieutenant  replied.  "I  told  him  he  would  be  court- 
martialled  and  so  forth.  All  he  did  was  to  show  me  a  bul- 
let-hole in  his  left  shoulder.  What  answer  could  I  make 
to  that?    The  wound  is  in  the  flesh  and  doesn't  look 

dangerous;  yet  since  last  night  he  has  lost  at  least  two 

414 


SI-HAMZA   REMEMBERS   HIS   OATH  415 

pints  of  blood.  Not  knowing  whether  you  would  care  to 
have  him  court-martialled,  I  sent  him  to  Farlede." 

"That  was  the  only  thing  to  do.  .  .  .  You  will  please 
awake  Lieutenant  Serral  and  send  him  to  me.  Since  he 
has  charge  of  the  native  troops,  he  must  see  to  it  that  the 
injured  are  not  allowed  to  conceal  their  wounds.  I  know 
it  is  not  his  fault;  yet  he  might  make  his  men  strip  after 
each  skirmish.  This  would  do  away  with  this  tendency  to 
cheat.  You  understand  that  when  he  sends  me  men  for 
guard  duty  I  take  it  for  granted  that  they  are  fit.  Any- 
thing else?" 

"Yes;  and  that's  stranger  still.  Hauptmann,  who  was 
next  to  Ben-Sliman,  told  me  that  he  saw  two  men  leave 
the  farm  and  make  for  the  fig  trees." 

"He  did  not  attempt  to  stop  them?" 

"He  thought  they  had  given  the  password.  It  was  not 
until  he  was  told  that  Ben-Sliman  had  been  sleeping  that 
it  occurred  to  him  that  perhaps  they  had  gone  without 
orders." 

"And  naturally  he  did  not  recognize  either  of  them? 
Happily,  it  doesn't  matter."  He  turned  to  the  American. 
"I  think  it  was  written  that  you  would  have  to  stay  here, 
Leyton.  It  appears  that  Sidi-Malik  and  Anoun-Dialo 
have  grown  tired  of  waiting." 

"But  I  beg  your  pardon,"  interrupted  Capo  di  Borgo. 
"Anoun-Dialo  has  not  left  the  farm.     I  just  saw  him." 

Jarchin  looked  at  him  in  amazement. 

"  Damn  me  if  I  thought  there  would  be  deserters  at  this 
stage,"  he  exclaimed.  "Some  of  your  crazy  Legionaries, 
I  will  wager!  Send  me  Sidi-Malik  and  Anoun-Dialo  at 
once.     I  want  to  see  them  with  my  own  eyes.     Also  have 


416        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

the  sergeants  call  the  rolls.  We  shall  sift  this  business  to 
the  bottom." 

Di  Borgo  disappeared  in  the  stairway.  It  was  now 
dusk.  A  long  day  of  anxiety  was  drawing  to  its  close. 
The  setting  sun,  firing  the  western  sky  with  its  most 
gorgeous  tones,  seemed  inclined  to  make  amends  for  the 
foulness  of  the  stench  which  permeated  the  air.  The  reek 
of  putrefaction  was  now  abominable;  and  Bou-Amel  was 
the  only  one  who  did  not  seem  inconvenienced.  Ignorant 
of  the  danger  threatening  him,  or  confident  in  his  ability 
to  cope  with  emergencies,  he  still  occupied  all  his  positions 
behind  the  pass.  For  the  last  fifteen  hours  no  fighting  had 
occurred,  and  the  day  had  passed  in  idleness  on  both  sides. 
Now  the  breeze  brought  to  the  ears  of  the  besieged  the 
drone  of  fifes,  derbukkhas  and  tom-toms. 

With  his  spy-glass,  Jarchin  had  begun  a  last  survey  of 
the  surroundings,  when  he  heard  Farlede  call  him  from 
below.  He  bent  over.  The  young  surgeon  was  asking 
him  whether  Ley  ton  was  with  him. 

"He  is,"  replied  the  Captain.  "Do  you  want  to  speak 
to  him?" 

"I  merely  want  to  ask  him  whether  he  knows  what  has 
become  of  Mile,  de  Diolie.  I  have  looked  all  over  the 
farm  and  can't  find  her." 

As  he  spoke  the  last  words,  Leyton  leaned  on  the  parapet. 

"Is  she  not  with  you ?"  he  inquired.  "I  have  not  seen 
her  since  twelve  o'clock.  The  attendant  told  me  she  was 
resting  and  I  did  not  want  to  disturb  her.  When  did  you 
miss  her?" 

"But  just  now.  .  .  .  Three-quarters  of  an  hour  ago 
she  was  here.     I  found  her  talking  with  Sidi-Malik." 


SI-HAMZA  REMEMBERS   HIS  OATH  417 

The  same  thought  struck  Jarchin  and  the  painter. 
They  exchanged  a  quick  glance. 

"The  strangest  part  of  it,"  Farlede  went  on,  "is  that  her 
garments  have  been  left  on  the  bed.    I  can't  understand  it." 

Leyton  understood  perfectly.  To  leave  the  farm  with 
the  camel-driver,  Gisele  had  again  dressed  in  the  native 
garb.  He  plunged  downstairs  four  at  a  time.  Jarchin 
followed.  They  met  Anoun-Dialo  and  Capo  di  Borgo  as 
they  reached  the  court-yard.  Questioned  on  the  subject 
of  Sidi-Malik's  whereabouts,  the  negro,  by  means  of  a 
shrug  of  the  shoulders  and  a  comical  turn  of  the  hand, 
expressed  a  total  and  prodigious  disappearance.  His  gest- 
ure could  not  have  been  more  expressive  had  he  caught 
Sidi-Malik  in  the  act  of  flying.  The  painter  addressed 
him  rudely. 

"Go  and  get  ready,  thou  fool!  Since  thou  wert  stupid 
enough  to  let  them  go,  thou  wilt  now  accompany  me." 
He  turned  to  Jarchin.  "  I  don't  suppose  you  will  stop  me 
now  ?  Can  you  give  me  a  guide  ?  Among  Serral's  men 
you  will  easily  find  a  fellow  who  knows  the  surroundings." 

Jarchin  went  away.  Five  minutes  later  he  came  back, 
followed  by  a  native  sergeant.  He  found  Leyton  and  the 
Yolof  waiting  impatiently  near  the  gate.  He  asked  them 
whether  they  had  all  they  wanted. 

"All,  including  rope,"  Leyton  replied.  "You  can  open 
the  gate.     I  think  it  is  dark  enough." 

With  a  hand-shake  to  Jarchin  and  Capo  di  Borgo,  he 
went  first.  Then  the  two  officers  saw  him  jump  back- 
wards and  pull  his  revolver.  Simultaneously  they  heard 
his  exclamation : 

"Hold  on,  there!     Hands  up!  .  .  .  Ah,  that's  better!" 


418        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

In  his  hurry  to  issue  forth,  Anoun-Dialo  elbowed  Jar- 
chin  so  violently  that  he  almost  knocked  him  down.  When 
he  was,  at  last,  able  to  take  a  peep  outside,  the  Captain 
found  himself  confronted  by  a  native.  Leyton  came 
forward,  his  grip  tight  on  the  fellow's  neck.  He  ex- 
claimed as  he  passed  the  gate  with  his  captive: 

"See  here,  Jarchin.  Your  sentries  are  all  asleep,  I 
suppose.  How  do  you  explain  that  this  scoundrel  reached 
the  wall  unchallenged?" 

But  the  sequel  proved  still  more  bewildering  to  the 
Captain,  who  did  not  understand  a  word  of  Arabic. 
As  soon  as  the  gate  was  closed,  Leyton  relaxed  his  hold. 
He  had  no  sooner  done  so  than  the  prisoner,  recovering 
the  use  of  speech,  addressed  him  in  voluble  Arabic.  Al- 
though the  American  failed  to  understand,  he  recognized 
in  the  newcomer  Muhamed-ben-Khadour,  the  Aissaoui 
who  had  rescued  Sidi-Malik  from  the  clutches  of  Bou- 
Amel.  The  native  extracted  from  the  folds  of  his  belt  a 
much-handled  piece  of  paper. 

"From  what  I  gather  from  his  palavering,"  said  di 
Borgo,  "Si-Hamza  has  entrusted  him  with  a  message  to 
d'Ornano.     I  believe  there  is  something  up." 

"We  shall  soon  find  out,"  replied  the  American.  "At 
present,  d'Ornano  is  either  Captain  Jarchin  or  myself. 
We  shall  see.  I  know  the  man.  You  can  leave  him  here. 
Anoun-Dialo  will  take  care  of  him." 

In  Jarchin's  room  they  found  Captain  Lesueur,  lying 
on  the  bed  and  reading  by  lamplight.  Without  any  other 
apology  than  a  laugh  from  the  painter,  they  took  the  lamp 
away  and  went  to  sit  at  the  table.  Si-Hamza's  letter  was 
in  French  and  ran  thus: 


SI-HAMZA  REMEMBERS  HIS  OATH  419 

My  dear  Adversary: — 

Alea  jacta  est.  Although  the  legions  sprang  from  the  earth  at  the 
stamping  of  his  foot,  Pompey  met  to-day  with  his  Pharsalia,  and 
Caesar's  name  is  Dusseau.  Of  course  all  this  is  your  fault.  But  if 
that  dog  of  a  Bou-Amel  had  obeyed  orders  and  respected  a  truce, 
nothing  as  bad  as  this  would  have  happened.  I  scarcely  know  where 
to  turn  for  support.  I  am  cut  off  from  Abd-er-Rhaman,  who  has 
begun  to  retreat;  and  I  am  threatened  by  four  brigades  under 
General  des  Essarts.  My  men  want  to  surrender.  They  say  that 
Allah  is  against  them,  and  remind  me  that  long  ago  I  warned  them 
that  this  would  come  to  pass.  They  now  remember  that  when  they 
fought  with  instead  of  against  the  French,  they  were  always  victorious. 
The  cold  truth  is  that  they  are  afraid  of  having  to  suffer  a  loss  of 
territory  as  a  penalty  for  rebellion.  As  the  laxity  of  my  own  religious 
convictions  unfits  me  for  the  part  of  the  prophet,  I  let  them  talk  and 
say  nothing.  You  can  have  my  sword.  I  would  rather  surrender  to  a 
friend  than  to  General  des  Essarts  who,  years  ago,  insulted  my  father. 
I  know  where  you  lie  and  where  you  await  me.  I  will  be  there  to- 
morrow. Meantime,  I  am  going  to  remember  my  oath.  Bou-Amel 
is  responsible  for  this  and  shall  pay  the  price  of  his  defection.  Keep 
strict  watch  on  the  Frenda  road.     I  shall  attack  him  to-night. 

Matricule  No.  112.    Cavalry  Squadron  of  Saint-Cyr, 

Pere  Systeme  for  the  Class  of  Luang-Prabang.* 

P.  S. — Can  you  give  me  news  of  Leyton?  He  disappeared.  I 
trust  he  did  not  fall  into  the  hands  of  Bou-Amel. 

"Whew!"  whistled  the  painter.  "A  rather  unexpected 
development,  isn't  it  ?  It  is  too  bad  poor  d'Ornano  is  not 
here  to  accept  Si-Hamza's  surrender.  What  are  you  go- 
ing to  do  about  it?" 

Jarchin  was  already  on  the  floor  unpacking  his  kit.     He 

*  The  pere  Systeme  of  Saint-Cyr  is  the  man  who  graduates  last. 
On  commencement  day  he  gives  a  name  to  the  class  and  delivers  a 
humorous  speech.  The  names  given  the  graduating  classes  are 
usually  inspired  by  the  chief  military  event  of  the  year. 


420        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

came  back  with  ink  and  stationery.     The  letter  completed, 
he  handed  it  to  the  painter: 

Leyton  is  well  and  will  probably  see  you  to-night.  He  leaves  the 
larm  with  your  messenger.  I  grieve  to  say  that,  two  days  ago,  Major 
d'Ornano  fell  into  Bou-Amel's  hands.  At  eight  o'clock  this  morning 
he  was  still  alive,  but  since  then  we  are  in  ignorance  of  his  fate.  I 
have  every  reason  to  fear  that  torture  has  been  the  reward  of  his 
heroism.  We  have  just  discovered  that  Sidi-Malik  and  Mile,  de 
Diolie  have  left  us,  in  all  likelihood  with  the  design  of  attempting  his 
rescue.  See  whether  you  cannot  help  them  in  their  dangerous  un- 
dertaking. It  seems  highly  desirable  that  Sidi-Malik  should  be 
provided  with  the  means  of  claiming  the  help  of  your  secret  agents.  I 
would  suggest  that  you  send  Muhamed  in  search  of  him. 

For  my  part,  I  will  hold  the  Frenda  road.  Should  d'Ornano  be 
rescued  to-night,  he  will  himself  accept  your  surrender.  If  not,  and 
in  case  it  should  be  your  wish  to  pay  this  last  homage  to  a  dead  friend, 
I  shall  accept  it  in  his  name.  Captain  Jarchin. 

"Good!"  Leyton  exclaimed  after  perusal.  "Jarchin, 
you  are  a  brick.  I  am  off.  If  all  goes  well,  we  shall  meet 
again  to-morrow  morning." 

"You  won't  take  my  sergeant?" 

"No,  thanks.  With  Muhamed  as  a  guide,  I  don't  think 
I  shall  need  him." 

He  ran  downstairs,  folding  the  message  as  he  went.  A 
minute  later  he  passed  the  gate  and,  with  Anoun-Dialo 
and  Muhamed,  began  feeling  his  way  in  the  dark. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 


This  endless  wait  behind  a  lentisc  bush  seemed  to  Gisele 
a  century  of  agony.  From  time  to  time  a  white  figure, 
shrouded  in  the  burnous,  emerged  from  the  darkness. 
Whenever  the  thing  occurred,  she  invariably  mistook  the 
on-comer  for  Sidi-Malik.  A  remnant  of  prudence  im- 
pelling her  to  remain  quiet  in  her  hiding-place,  she  listened 
to  the  beating  of  her  own  temples,  waiting  for  the  stroller, 
who  came  climbing  the  mountain  path,  to  stop  and  speak 
to  her.  And  as  he  passed  by,  often  with  a  song,  the  same 
sharp  pang  of  disappointment  gripped  her  heart. 

The  camel-driver  had  left  her  to  go  in  search  of  d'Ornano 
To  the  comparative  relief  she  had  enjoyed  when  she  had 
left  the  farm  in  his  company  had  succeeded  a  period  of 
dejection  even  worse  than  the  despondency  she  had 
experienced  after  d'Ornano's  farewell.  Hope  she  had 
then  abandoned.  Now  hope  was  again  alive.  Although 
some  of  it  went  as  the  minutes  flew  by,  enough  of  it  re- 
mained to  impel  her  to  disregard  all  the  dictates  of  prudence 
and  start  alone  on  her  forlorn  quest.  She  had  reached  the 
stage  when  anything  seemed  preferable  to  suspense.  She 
had  come  to  see  d'Ornano  a  last  time;  and  the  yearning 
to  leave  her  place  of  concealment  became  every  minute 

more  difficult  to  resist.     She  might  have  accepted  with 

421 


422        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

dumb  despair  the  certainty  of  his  death;  she  was  unable 
to  bear  the  thought  that  he  suffered  in  his  flesh  and  that 
she  was  powerless  to  ease  the  agony  of  his  last  hour. 

On  the  road,  below  her,  she  saw  torches.  A  moment 
later  she  noticed  that  a  caravan  had  filed  into  the  path 
leading  past  her  hiding-place.  Luminous  points  were 
moving  up  and  down.  The  light  played  on  the  many 
colored  woollen  textures  of  bassours.  Negro  servants  were 
shouting  orders.  Long  before  the  first  camels  came  abreast, 
she  recognized  a  zmala  carrying  the  women  and  property 
of  a  chief  of  great  tent,  perhaps  of  Bou-Amel  himself. 

She  crouched  lower  behind  the  lentisc  bush.  To  her 
great  surprise  and  alarm,  the  caravan  came  to  a  sudden 
stop  immediately  in  front  of  her.  She  heard  the  excited 
voices  of  black  slaves. 

"  Which  way  ?  .  .  .  There  are  two  paths.  Which  way, 
Sidi  ?  .  .  .  Where  is  Mustapha,  our  lord  ?" 

The  curtains  of  a  bassour  were  jerked  open.  A  woman 
shrouded  in  the  haik  showed  herself  in  full  light.  She 
shouted  to  a  servant: 

"Tell  Mustapha  to  come  here.  We  must  wait.  The 
path  leading  to  Fortassa  is  occupied  by  Kha'id-Glawi,  who 
won't  let  us  proceed;  and  the  French  hold  the  other  road. 
Mustapha  must  come  here  with  the  guide.     Roh  fissa!" 

She  drew  back,  her  small  hand,  covered  with  rings,  still 
holding  the  curtain.  Gisele  rose.  This  time  the  impulse 
was  irresistible.  She  could  not  have  mistaken  that  voice. 
Leaving  her  place  of  concealment,  she  crossed  the  path. 

"Djeilma!"  she  called. 

No  answer.  The  veiled  form  crouched  in  the  darkest 
corner  of  the  bassour  and  the  curtain  fell.     One  second 


"The  mad  woman  !   Inshallah  ! 


"the  pen  that  writes  without  ink"    423 

the  young  woman  remained  motionless  and  discounte- 
nanced. 

"  Dost  thou  know  that  Sidi-Malik  is  liable  to  be  here  at 
any  time,  Djeilma  ?"  she  resumed. 

Again  the  curtain  was  jerked  open.  The  Circassian 
bent  forward. 

"Who  art  thou  ?"  she  inquired. 

"I  thought  thou  wouldst  recognize  the  voice.  Didst 
thou  so  soon  forget  the  cousin  of  Sidi  Leitoun  ? " 

Quick  as  a  flash,  Djeilma  attempted  to  grasp  her.  Fore- 
stalling her  intention,  Gisele  opened  her  haik. 

"The  mad  woman,  Inshallah!,,  exclaimed  the  Circas- 
sian.    "  What  art  thou  doing  here  ?  " 

"What  thou  seest.     I  am  waiting." 

"Waiting  for  Sidi-Malik?  .  .  .  What  is  thy  business 
in  these  parts?" 

"We  came  to  ascertain  whether  Sidi  d'Ornano  is  dead 
or  alive.  I  was  told  that  thou  didst  speak  to  him  last  night. 
Is  it  true?" 

"It  is  true." 

"Where  is  he  now?" 

"He  lives  still.  I  will  tell  thee.  Let  me  speak  to 
Mustapha." 

A  eunuch  was  now  standing  at  Gisele's  right  side.  In 
a  few  words  the  Circassian  explained  the  situation  as 
she  conceived  it.  Khaid-Glawi  occupied  the  hill  at  the 
right  of  them;  the  French  were  on  the  left;  Sidi-Malik 
could  be  expected  at  any  time,  and,  even  singly,  he  would 
be  dangerous.  To  avoid  him,  it  was  best  to  proceed  a  little 
way  on  the  path  leading  to  Fortassa,  and  await  there  Si- 
Hamza's  attack.     As  she  spoke,  a  great  light  broke  upon 


424        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

Gisele.  Leyton  had  told  her  something  of  Mustapha. 
She  knew  that  it  was  owing  to  the  Circassian  that  he  now 
occupied  in  Bou-Amers  zenana  the  position  he  had  once 
filled  in  Muley-Hassan's  harem.  From  the  tone  of  the 
conversation,  she  was  able  to  gather  that  the  eunuch  and 
the  favorite  were  accomplices.  The  news  that  Si-Hamza 
was  in  the  vicinity,  ready  to  attack  Bou-Amel,  enabled  her 
to  grasp  the  true  nature  of  this  complicity.  There  was  no 
doubt  that  the  confederates,  aware  that  the  occupation  of 
Ain-Guergour  by  French  troops  sounded  the  knell  of  Bou- 
Amers  downfall,  had  struck  a  bargain  amounting  in  sub- 
stance to  the  understanding  that  the  eunuch  would  loot 
Bou-Amers  treasure  and  that  Dje'ilma  would  undertake  to 
save  it  from  seizure.  This  she  evidently  proposed  to 
accomplish  by  claiming  Si-Hamza's  protection,  thinking 
that  the  young  sheikh  would  refuse  her  nothing.  As  Gisele 
realized  the  efficiency  of  the  weapon  sheer  luck  had  placed 
in  her  hand,  she  felt  a  great  hope  fill  her  heart. 

"Listen,"  she  said,  taking  hold  of  Mustapha's  burnous. 
"Am  I  to  understand  that  thou  art  going  to  Si-Hamza  with 
the  zmala  of  Bou-Amel?" 

The  eunuch  gave  her  a  startled  look  and  turned  to 
Djei'lma  for  his  cue.  Letting  her  hai'k  fall  on  her  shoul- 
ders, the  Circassian  awaited  developments  with  tigerish 
quiet. 

"The  path  to  the  left  leads  to  the  French,"  Gisele  went 
on.  "It  is  the  only  one  free  from  obstacles,  and  you  are 
not  going  to  take  it?" 

Mustapha  was  on  the  point  of  answering  with  brutality, 
when  Djeilma,  whose  eyes  had  darkened,  made  an  im- 
perious gesture. 


"the  pen  that  writes  without  ink"    425 

"Wisdom  sometimes  comes  from  the  lips  of  the  maboul," 
she  said.     "The  woman  is  mad.     Let  her  speak!" 

"Who  would  choose  to  double  his  risks?"  Gisele  re- 
sumed. "If  perchance  Khaid-Glawi  lets  you  pass,  it  will 
be  only  because  a  fight  has  begun.  The  zmala  may  be 
plundered  by  the  Ouled-Sidi-Sheiks  ere  Si-Hamza  is  told  of 
your  presence.  Even  if  nothing  as  bad  as  this  befalls  you, 
you  will  to-morrow  fall  into  French  hands,  since  French 
troops  are  holding  the  pass,  and  Si-Hamza  is  pursued  by 
General  des  Essarts.  You  cannot  help  being  captured. 
Why  should  you  take  the  additional  chance  of  a  fight  ? " 

"But  I  know  that  Si-Hamza  wants  to  surrender," 
Djeilma  interrupted.  "If  he  intends  to  attack  Bou-Amel, 
it  is  to  earn  the  forgiveness  of  the  Frenchmen." 

"Art  thou  sure  it  is  not  to  fulfil  a  vow  he  made  in 
Figuig?" 

"It  is  partly  that.  Si-Hamza  very  dearly  loves  Sidi 
d'Ornano  and  he  is  a  friend  of  many  French  officers.  For 
this  reason  the  French  will  shun  harsh  measures.  More- 
over, they  will  need  the  Ouled-Sidi-Sheiks  to  go  on  with 
the  war." 

She  seemed  so  sure  of  herself  that  Gisele  was  unable  to 
repress  a  smile.  Djeilma,  as  student  of  politics,  was  a 
revelation.  Yet  it  was  not  so  astonishing  after  all!  The 
Circassian  was  of  the  kind  who  will  steal  whatever  power 
they  are  denied,  become  a  factor  in  politics  in  a  land  where 
politics  are  held  to  be  so  high  above  their  sphere,  and  dare 
the  worst  where  they  have  to  fear  the  worst.  It  was  not 
the  first  time  that  the  French  girl  was  struck  by  Djeilma's 
keen  insight  into  the  human  heart. 

"But  the  French  will  insist  upon  avenging  Sidi  d'Orna- 


426        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

no,"  she  said,  trying  a  new  argument.  "They  will  compel 
Si-Hamza  to  hand  over  the  zmala  of  Bou-Amel." 

Djellma  looked  at  her  keenly. 

"  Thou  art  not  so  mad,  after  all,"  she  admitted.  "  What 
is  thy  idea?" 

"My  idea  is  that  Si-Hamza  and  the  French  will  have 
every  reason  to  thank  and  to  treat  well  those  who  will 
rescue  Sidi  d'Ornano  from  certain  death." 

"So  thou  wouldst  want  us  to  go  to  the  French  camp 
with  Sidi  d'Ornano?" 

"Yes." 

"Thou  art  in  love  with  Sidi  d'Ornano?" 

"Perhaps." 

"Thou  art  no  longer  in  love  with  Sidi  Leitoun?" 

"Sidi  Leitoun  is  only  my  cousin.  I  treat  him  as  a 
brother." 

"Thou  wilt  never  again  interfere  between  me  and  Sidi 
Leitoun?" 

"Why  should  I?"  she  replied.  "Sidi  Leitoun  is  a 
grown  man;  he  can  answer  for  himself." 

"Then  he  must  make  me  a  picture  of  myself  as  I  asked 
him.  But  there  is  something  else.  Wilt  thou  give  me  the 
gold  snake  I  saw  on  thy  arm  the  day  of  our  flight  from 
Marakesh?" 

"I  shall  give  it." 

"And  the  pen  which  writes  without  ink?" 

"The  pen  was  Sidi  d'Ornano's,  and  not  mine." 

"He  will  give  it  if  it  is  thy  wish.  Will  he  protect  me 
against  Sidi-Malik?    Shall  I  be  free?" 

"Why  not  ask  that  question  of  Sidi  d'Ornano?  He  is 
himself  my  master." 


"the  pen  that  writes  without  ink"    427 

"M'leh  kateer.  It  shall  be  done.  We  will  go  on  the 
French  road  and  wait  there  for  thy  lover.  I  warn  thee,  he 
is  very  tired.  He  walked  between  two  horses  ever  since 
this  morning.  Go  now.  I  must  think  over  this  thing. 
Mustapha  has  Bou-Amers  seal.  He  will  write  the  Jcarta 
for  the  keepers  of  Sidi  d'Ornano  and  he  will  give  thee 
a  bassour." 

Less  than  three-quarters  of  an  hour  later,  d'Ornano,  led 
to  a  lonely  spot,  was  lifted  upon  a  horse.  He  at  once  went 
to  sleep.  He  knew  not  what  the  outcome  would  be  and  did 
not  care.  For  the  last  twelve  hours  a  single  thought  had 
run  through  the  circumvolutions  of  his  brain:  sleep  if  he 
could,  die  if  he  must.  His  strength  was  gone.  His 
powers  of  perception  were  utterly  blighted  in  the  surging 
tide  of  his  weariness;  even  his  capacity  for  suffering  had 
considerably  decreased.  During  the  sixty-five  hours  his 
torment  had  lasted,  his  keepers  had  been  renewed  ten 
times.  All  but  two  had  made  him  walk  the  ground  with- 
out cessation,  pushing  their  horses  right  and  left,  and 
pulling  on  his  arms,  in  opposite  directions,  whenever  he 
staggered  from  fatigue  or  evinced  a  determination  not  to 
proceed  a  step  further.  All  but  two!  These  two  had 
allowed  him  to  speak  to  Djeilma  and  to  lie  down.  But 
in  his  present  state  of  torpor  he  was  unaware  of  the  fact 
that  the  same  men  were  now  leading  him  southwards. 

He  awoke  under  the  hands  of  two  husky  negro  servants 
who  massaged  his  weary  limbs  with  cinnamon  oil.  After 
they  had  dressed  him,  a  cup  of  very  strong  coffee  was  given 
him.  He  drank  at  a  gulp  the  hot  beverage.  Then  the 
two  men  took  him  by  the  ankles  and  shoulders  and  lifted 


428        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

him.  He  caught  sight  of  a  kneeling  camel  harnessed  with 
a  bassour.  A  second  later,  ushered  into  a  darkness  pungent 
with  the  perfumes  of  benjoin  and  rose-water,  he  found  him- 
self behind  closed  curtains,  his  head  upon  a  woman's  lap. 

The  sense  of  danger  and  the  instinct  of  self-preservation, 
which  extreme  weariness  had  overcome,  returned  at  the 
same  instant,  and  he  struggled  against  an  overwhelming 
inclination  to  go  back  to  sleep.  The  fighting  instinct, 
dulled  by  exhaustion,  had  returned  with  its  keen  edge,  and 
with  it  the  power  of  perception  and  the  faculty  of  think- 
ing. Slowly  he  emerged  from  the  deep  waters  of  forget- 
fulness. 

He  had  not  understood  yet;  and  the  sensation  of  sus- 
pense was  not  unpleasant.  Obviously,  something  beyond 
belief  had  taken  place.  He  had  seen  the  stars,  the  camels, 
a  bassour.  That  he  was  now  lying  upon  silk  cushions  with 
his  head  on  somebody's  knees  was  evident  beyond  a  doubt. 
He  was  alive;  that  much  was  established.  He  was  alive; 
but  how  and  why  ? 

He  had  no  sooner  made  sure  that  he  was  in  the  company 
of  a  woman  than  he  knew  the  woman.  It  was  Djeilma 
who  had  arranged  to  meet  him  twenty-four  hours  before. 
The  connection  between  the  interview  and  the  leniency 
shown  afterwards  by  his  keepers  he  could  not  overlook. 
He  rejected  as  preposterous  the  idea  that  anybody  but 
himself  and  Djeilma  might  now  be  in  the  bassour.  The 
woman  who  could  manage  to  conceal  in  her  own  palanquin 
the  sworn  foe  of  her  lord  and  master  could  be  trusted  to 
keep  the  would-be  eavesdroppers  at  a  distance.  He 
called  aloud: 

"Djeilma!    Woman,  art  thou  not  Djeilma?" 


"the  pen  that  writes  without  ink"    429 

"Allah  Kerim!  Art  thou  awake,  Sidi?"  came  the  star- 
tled answer.     "How  didst  thou  know  it  was  Djeilma?" 

"And  whom  could  it  be,  woman-child — Bebee  Mi- 
riam?" 

"It  might  be  the  cousin  of  Sidi  Le'itoun." 

D'Ornano  was  too  tired  to  busy  himself  with  puzzles. 
He  passed  this  one  over  without  comment. 

"Where  are  we  now?"  he  inquired.  "Where  are  we 
going?"  ^ 

Immediately  he  felt  a  small  finger  on  his  lips.  The 
Circassian  bent  over  him  and  whispered  in  his  ear,  almost 
with  a  laugh,  he  thought: 

" Hush!  we  go  to  Si-Hamza." 

"ToSi-Hamza?    Why?    Where  is  Si-Hamza?" 

"Speak  lower,  Sidi.  He  is  in  hiding  in  the  forest  of 
Nesmote.  I  learned  from  one  of  his  spies  that  it  was  his 
intention  to  attack  Bou-Amel  to-night." 

"And  why  should  he  attack  him?" 

"  Manarf,  Sidi.  I  am  not  in  his  heart.  He  took  the 
oath  on  thy  account  and  struck  Bou-Amel,  remember. 
Now  that  the  battle  of  Mascara  has  been  lost  because  Bou- 
Amel  did  not  do  as  he  was  told,  he  has  two  revenges  to 
take.     And  I  will  help  him,  Inshallah!" 

Her  tone  was  so  emphatic  that  d'Ornano  laughed. 
"How  wilt  thou  help  him ?"  he  asked. 

"Allah  Kerim!  Do  I  not  go  with  Bou-Amel's  zmala, 
and  do  I  not  take  thee  with  me?"  she  retorted.  "Who 
could  wish  for  more  ?  How  I  hate  that  one-eyed  man  from 
the  sands  and  all  his  camel-riders!  Hearken,  Sidi!" 
She  raised  her  round  arm  solemnly.  "  I  bear  witness  that 
whoever  brings  me  his  head    I  shall  take  for  a   lover. 


430        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

Should  that  man  be  even  the  brother  of  Satan,  the  stoned, 
yet  I  swear  I  should  take  him." 

"But  what  is  to  become  of  Sidi  Lei'toun  and  Si-Hamza, 
in  that  case?"  inquired  d'Ornano,  laughing  again. 

"Sidi  Lei'toun!  .  .  .  Oh,  Sidi  Leitoun  is  a  fool!"  she 
exclaimed  in  utter  contempt.  "If  he  makes  my  picture, 
I  shall  be  well  content  to  leave  him  alone.  I  only  wanted 
to  spite  his  French  cousin." 

"But  why  spite  his  French  cousin?" 

"A  week  after  we  left  Marakesh,  I  asked  her  to  give  me 
a  pen  that  writes  without  ink.  She  refused  because  it  was 
thine,"  she  said.  "But  behold!  To-morrow  I  will  make 
her  give  me  a  gold  snake.  There  is  not  another  like  it  in 
all  the  soukhs  in  Marakesh." 

"Did  she  promise  the  gold  snake?" 

Djeilma  hesitated.  "No,"  she  said,  unwilling  to  let 
the  cat  out.     "But  do  I  not  take  thee  to  her?" 

"But  suppose  she  does  not  consider  that  I  am  worth  a 
gold  snake?" 

"She  does." 

"  How  dost  thou  know  ?  And  suppose  I  don't  allow  the 
exchange  ? " 

He  came  very  near  choking  as  he  noticed  the  change  of 
expression  on  her  face.  But  he  suddenly  sobered  as  she 
gave  him  to  understand,  in  no  equivocal  terms,  that  he, 
d'Ornano,  might  perhaps  secure  the  head  of  Bou-Amel  and 
thus  be  entitled  to  claim  the  reward.  That  he  was  at  the 
same  time  expected  to  press  his  suit  was  made  equally  plain. 
Evidently  the  prospect  of  stealing  a  last  march  on  the 
French  cousin  was  not  of  a  nature  to  displease  the  Circas- 
sian.   To  put  an  end  to  the  ridiculous  scene,  he  declared 


"the  pen  that  writes  without  ink"    431 

that,  far  from  making  opposition  to  the  transfer  of  the  gold 
snake,  he  would  even  go  to  the  length  of  presenting  her 
with  a  duplicate  of  the  fountain  pen  which  had  precipitated 
the  trouble.  This  was  so  unexpected  that  Djeilma  clapped 
her  hands  in  childish  glee. 

"  Indeed,  thou  art  a  man,  Sidi  d'Ornano! "  she  exclaimed. 
"Now  I  shall  tell  thee  the  truth.  We  are  not  going  to 
Si-Hamza." 

"Then  whither  do  we  go  ?" 

"To  thine  own  camp,  Bismillah!  But  listen;  this  is  not 
all.  I  shall  give  thee  three  guesses.  Whom  dost  thou 
suppose  came  to  ask  me  to  rescue  thee,  to-night?" 

"Sidi-Malik?" 

"No." 

"SidiLeitoun?" 

"No,  Sidi." 

"Then  Si-Hamza  sent  his  spies,  unless  Capo  di  Borgo 
left  the  farm  with  some  of  my  men?" 

"No,  Sidi;  no,  Sidi,"  and  she  almost  screamed,  so 
amused  that  she  again  clapped  her  hands.  "This  makes 
four  guesses,  and  I  gave  thee  only  three.  What  a  man 
thou  art,  Allah  Kerim!  I  never  yet  found  the  man  who 
took  women  into  account.  Was  it  a  man  who  rescued 
SidiLeitoun?" 

She  opened  the  curtains  and  shouted  to  the  negro  driver 
to  stop.  As  soon  as  the  animal  had  kneeled,  she  let  her- 
self slide  down.  D'Ornano  was  left  alone  in  the  darkness. 
Then  a  feminine  form  obscured  the  opening  between  the 
curtains. 

"Are  you  awake,  Monsieur  d'Ornano?" 

The  question  had  been  put  in  French.     Laboring  under 


432        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

the  impression  that  it  was  Djeilma  coming  back,  d'Ornano 
wondered  if,  by  any  chance,  an  hallucination  born  of  his 
state  of  torpor  caused  him  to  hear  Gisele's  voice  at  such  a 
time  and  at  such  a  place.  Thinking  from  his  silence 
that  he  had  again  succumbed  to  weariness,  the  young 
woman  opened  the  curtain  wide.  As  she  did  so,  the  hai'k 
fell  on  her  shoulders. 

Doubt  was  no  longer  possible.  It  was  Gisele  to  whom 
he  owed  life  and  freedom.  Too  moved  to  speak,  d'Ornano 
caught  the  young  woman  by  the  wrist  and  drew  her  into 
the  bassour.  No  sooner  had  the  camel  felt  that  the  new 
passenger  had  taken  her  seat  than  he  got  up  of  his  own 
accord. 

The  Corsican  raised  the  wrist  of  his  captive  to  his  lips. 
Gisele  made  a  short-lived  attempt  at  freeing  herself.  As 
his  grip  only  tightened,  she  had  recourse  to  dignified 
speech. 

"If  I  am  to  travel  with  you,  it  is  on  the  condition  that 
you  will  remember  that  a  man  as  tired  as  you  are  must 
obey  the  orders  of  his  nurse,"  she  said.  "You  must  lie 
down  and  go  to  sleep." 

"Thank  you  for  reminding  me,"  he  replied  with  a 
gravity  equal  to  her  own.  I  trust  you  have  not  forgotten 
all  the  nursery  rhymes  you  used  to  know.  But,  if  you 
allow  me,  I  would  rather  rid  myself  of  the  apologies  I  have 
been  accumulating  the  last  sixty  hours." 

"You  may;  but  be  quick!" 

"In  the  first  place,  I  would  like  you  to  be  sure  that  I 
am  awfully  sorry  for  having  shown  you  so  much  brutality 
this  morning." 

"I  knew  you  could  not  help  it." 


"the  pen  that  writes  without  ink"    433 

"You  are  mocking  me.  But  I  had  to  go,  and  I  could 
not  stop  long  enough  to  convince  you  that  my  duty  was 
plain.  Moreover,  nothing  I  could  have  said  on  the  subject 
would  have  been  conclusive.  But  I  might  have  spared  you 
the  humiliation.  Will  you  believe  me  when  I  tell  you  that 
it  was  not  false  pride  which  prevented  me  from  asking  you 
sooner  to " 

She  interrupted,  laughing.  "Don't  tell  me.  I  shall 
never  believe  it." 

"Why?  In  all  seriousness,  I  assure  you  that  I  could 
not  bring  myself  to  speak.     Is  it  then  so  impossible  ?" 

"Not  at  all.  May  I  ask  what  made  you  find  your 
tongue?" 

"  I  don't  know  if  you  will  pardon  me  for  saying  it.  It 
seems  that  you  took  the  lead  in  the  matter?" 

"  I  had  to,  Monsieur  d'Ornano." 

"I  admit  it." 

"And  that  does  not  put  you  to  shame  ?" 

"  I  am  afraid  it  does." 

"Then  you  are  no  longer  frightened  ?" 

"I  am  not." 

"And  you  cradled  yourself  in  the  belief  that  I  would  do 
without  my  proposal?" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  Oh  yes,  you  may  well  begin  to  shake.  It  strikes  me 
that  you  are  sorely  in  need  of  rhetorical  training,  Monsieur 
d'Ornano.  As  I  must  make  sure  beforehand  that  I  shall 
not  be  compelled  to  wait  at  the  church,  you  will  oblige 
me  by  presently  twisting  your  thoughts  into  a  decent  dec- 
laration of  your  feelings." 

"But  .  .  ." 


434        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

"No,  but.  ...  If  you  cannot  find  anything  original,  I 
shall  sentence  you  to  repeat  my  own  words.  You  will  be 
sorry.  It  will  teach  you  the  one  thing  you  refuse  to  learn; 
and  that's  laughing  at  yourself." 

Until  now  she  had  been  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the 
bassour.  But  at  this  stage,  feeling  somewhat  uncomfort- 
able, she  changed  her  position  and  closed  the  curtains. 
It  was  the  thought  that  she  could  not  now  see  him  and 
laugh  at  his  grimace  which  decided  d'Ornano.  He  hap- 
pened also  to  remember  that  there  had  been  a  time  when 
proposal  had  been  spelled  Rapt  in  big  letters.  The  original 
spelling  was  much  more  acceptable  to  his  character;  and, 
moreover,  there  was  a  chance  that,  by  taking  Gisele  in  his 
arms,  he  would  evince  greater  powers  of  persuasion. 

"My  dear,"  he  said,  "you  were  given  to  me.  You  say 
that  I  have  to  ask  your  permission  to  keep  you.  But  you 
will  kindly  remember  that  your  father's  last  words  were  to 
warn  me  against  letting  you  'fall  into  the  hands  of  these 
scoundrels.'  What  if  I  take  the  position  that  all  the  men 
are  scoundrels?" 

"Do  you  call  this  a  proposal?"  she  laughed.  "Au 
temps!  C'est  trop  ttvou,  as  you  say  in  the  military.  You 
will  please  begin  all  over  again.  .  .  .  Hush!  What  is 
this  ?    What  are  they  screaming  about  ?" 

The  caravan  had  come  to  a  sudden  stop.  Opening  the 
curtain,  d'Ornano  put  his  head  out.  They  were  in 
the  very  heart  of  the  pass.  A  hundred  feet  ahead,  gleaming 
in  the  darkness,  he  saw  the  bayonets  of  his  soldiers.  He 
reentered  the  bassour. 

"My  men,"  he  said.  "But  I  have  yet  time  to  ask  and 
be  granted  forgiveness.     I  told  you  this  morning  that  I 


"the  pen  that  writes  without  ink" 


435 


loved  you,  Gisele;  and  you  have  long  ago  reached  your 
conclusions  about  it.  Will  it  be  my  wife  that  I  shall  take 
to  Corsica  this  summer?" 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  "as  soon  as  I  have  sewn  on  your 
sleeve  the  galon  of  a  lieutenant-colonel." 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

SIDI-MALIK   COMES  INTO  HIS   OWN 

Terror  and  confusion  had  Bou-Amers  followers  by  the 
throat.  With  Si-Hamza's  first  charge,  the  discovery  was 
made  that  the  chieftain  was  no  longer  in  his  tent.  Shortly 
afterwards  it  became  known  that  the  zmala  was  also  miss- 
ing. The  suspicion  that  the  Maddhi  had  fled,  leaving 
his  troops  to  defend  themselves  as  best  they  could,  was 
spread  by  the  chiefs  themselves  who,  now  unrestrained  in 
their  personal  ambition,  clashed  with  each  other  in  a  wild 
scramble  for  leadership.  There  had  never  existed,  in  this 
army,  more  than  a  semblance  of  discipline.  It  went  with 
Bou-Amel.  Khaid-el-Goundafi  attempted  in  vain  to  im- 
pose his  authority  upon  Khaid-Glawi.  The  people  of 
Wad  Nun  and  Wadi  Draa  refused  with  indignation  to 
recognize  in  either  of  them  the  Maddhi's  coadjutor.  The 
Saharan  sheikhs,  acting  without  concert,  and  thinking 
of  little  beyond  saving  their  own  goods,  thwarted  each 
other's  efforts  at  reestablishing  order.  Twice  a  half- 
hearted attempt  to  force  the  pass  and  escape  by  the 
Frenda  road  was  made  by  Khaid-Glawi.  It  came  to 
naught  before  the  fire  of  the  French.  Tribal  chief  after 
tribal  chief  passed  over  to  Si-Hamza.  Three  of  the  chief- 
tain's sons,  delivered  by  transfuges  into  the  victor's  hands, 

436 


SIDI-MALIK  COMES   INTO  HIS   OWN  437 

were  immediately  turned  over  to  the  executioner.  Si- 
Hamza  had  not  expected  strong  resistance;  but  he  met 
so  little  that  no  excuse  for  great  slaughter  was  left  him. 
The  spirit  of  the  Saharans  gave  way  of  a  sudden  as  is 
always  the  case  with  such  hosts.  Magnificent  in  the 
onslaught,  an  unmatched  soldier  as  long  as  he  believes  him- 
self to  be  the  sword  of  his  God,  the  Moslem  is  unable  to 
stem  the  tide  of  defeat  and  will  lose  all  in  a  moment  of 
panic  fear.  Of  Bou-Amel's  great  army,  nothing  remained 
when  dawn  came.  The  crowd  that  was  left  in  its  place 
was  on  its  knees,  too  glad  to  be  plundered,  begging  only  for 
life  at  the  feet  of  the  victor. 

Bou-Amel  had  fled  at  the  first  attack.  With  a  few 
trusted  men,  he  followed  for  an  hour  the  windings  of  a 
mountain  path,  unaware  that  Sidi-Malik,  Muhamed-ben- 
Khadour  and  twenty  others  were  on  his  tracks.  The 
camel-driver  and  his  companions  fell  on  them  as  they 
stopped  to  consider  whether  they  should  flee  towards 
Saida  or  towards  Tiaret. 

The  sun  was  already  high  when  Sidi-Malik,  Bou- 
Amel's  headless  body  dragging  at  his  horse's  tail,  reached 
the  pass  of  Ain-Guergour.  He  found  the  farm  deserted. 
The  French  troop  had  removed  to  healthier  quarters,  a 
mile  and  a  half  nearer  Cacherou,  at  the  other  extremity  of 
the  pass.  Thither  Sidi-Malik  turned  his  horse.  Khai'd- 
Mokrani,  sent  by  Si-Hamza  to  inform  d'Ornano  that  his 
chief  would  soon  make  his  appearance,  had  come  back 
with  Leyton,  ready  to  surrender  with  all  his  men.  The 
Corsican  had  lined  the  road  on  both  sides  with  his  troops. 
He  now  watched  a  ceaseless  flow  of  horsemen  who  threw 
their  weapons  down  as  they  passed  by. 


438        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

The  spectacular  appearance  of  Sidi-Malik  on  the  scene 
created  all  the  stir  the  camel-driver  had  anticipated  and 
more.  But  none  were  as  powerfully  impressed  as  Dje'ilma, 
and  certainly  none  evinced  at  the  same  time  so  much  ad- 
miration and  so  much  fear. 

Like  a  queen  of  Sheba,  surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  negro 
servants,  eunuchs,  arijas,  camel-drivers,  frightened  children 
and  weeping  females,  the  Circassian  was  deep  in  conversa- 
tion with  Gisele  and  the  painter.  Her  milk-white  camel, 
the  proudest  of  a  hundred  animals  of  Filali  breed,  was  in 
a  kneeling  position.  She  reclined  in  her  bassour.  Un- 
veiled, in  the  scant  array  of  gorgeous  gauzes  and  filmy 
silks,  as  white  as  a  pearl  in  the  setting  of  multicolored 
cushions,  she  kept  a  studied  attitude.  She  had  taken 
precious  care  that  the  bassour's  curtains  should  be  wide 
open  so  that  nobody,  not  even  the  French  soldiers,  could 
doubt  that  she  surpassed  in  attractiveness  the  French- 
woman with  whom  she  was  conversing.  The  intent  was 
so  obvious  that  Gisele  almost  regretted  having  again  re- 
sumed the  garments  of  the  hospital  nurse.  It  was  in  the 
midst  of  this  display  of  barbaric  splendor  that  Sidi-Malik 
made  his  startling  reappearance.  Horsemen  in  brilliant 
costume  came  trotting  singly,  throwing  down  their  weapons 
and  riding  by  with  unabated  pride  and  dignity  of  bearing. 
Negro  servants,  glad  of  an  event  which  would  give  freedom 
to  those  who  had  been  held  in  slavery,  were  singing  in 
chorus.  Hysterical  females  were  weeping,  in  turns  en- 
treating and  cursing  the  French  soldiers.  A  strange  blend 
of  Arabic  perfumes,  mingled  with  the  scents  of  horses, 
camels  and  heated  wool,  permeated  the  atmosphere.  The 
macadamized  road  was  painfully  white  in  the  June  heat. 


SIDI-MALIK  COMES  INTO  HIS   OWN  439 

The  blue-gray  agaves  that  bordered  it  shot  blossoming 
poles  high  in  the  deep  cobalt  of  the  sky.  As  proud  as  Don 
Caesar  de  Bazan,  Sidi-Malik  came  trotting  along,  dragging 
in  the  dust  the  body  of  Bou-Amel. 

Dje'ilma,  who  was  facing  the  road,  saw  him  first.  Ley  ton, 
then  listening  to  Gisele,  had  not  noticed  the  sudden  silence 
which  had  fallen  over  the  crowd.  But  he  saw  the  Cir- 
cassian's mobile  features  at  first  express  surprise,  then 
abject  fear.  She  did  not  utter  a  sound;  but  he  saw  the 
dread  of  death  fill  her  dilated  pupils.  He  turned  sharply 
and  not  a  minute  too  soon.  Sidi-Malik  had  already 
jumped  from  his  horse.  His  flissa  in  his  hand,  he  was 
now  running  towards  the  bassour. 

Leyton  received  the  impact.  Happily  his  hands  were 
free.  He  managed  to  seize  the  camel-driver  by  the  throat, 
succeeding  at  the  same  time  in  catching  hold  of  his  right 
arm.  But  he  nearly  lost  his  balance.  Then  remembering 
what  a  wrestler  his  opponent  was,  he  called  for  help,  know- 
ing that  if  the  struggle  was  protracted  he  would  be  pushed 
against  the  camel  and  thrown  down.  And  Sidi-Malik 
was  capable  of  murdering  Dje'ilma  over  him.  He  yelled 
to  Gisele: 

"Tell  d'Ornano!  Quick,  for  God's  sake!  Ya  Mok- 
rani!     Aroua  mena  Mokrani." 

The  old  khai'd  was  not  slow  in  answering  the  call. 
Twisting  Sidi-Malik's  wrist  with  both  hands,  he  com- 
pelled him  to  relax  the  hold  he  had  on  his  flissa.  This 
done,  he  caught  him  by  the  shoulders,  struck  him  in  the 
loins  with  his  knee  and  doubled  him  over.  A  blow  on 
the  chin  completed  the  camel-driver's  collapse.  When 
Jarchin  and    d'Ornano  reached    the   place,  they  found 


440        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

Leyton  sitting  on  the  chest  of  his  prostrate  adversary. 
The  painter  got  up,  thinking  that  there  were  now  enough 
of  them  to  hold  Sidi-Malik  in  check.  Released,  the  fallen 
man  did  not  even  attempt  to  move.  The  sudden  fear  of 
having  hurt  him  smote  Leyton;  but  d'Ornano  knew 
better. 

"Get  up,  beni-kelb!"  he  ordered  sternly.  "I  will  have 
no  murders  in  my  camp,  understand.  In  consideration  of 
thy  services,  thou  wilt  this  time  go  free.  But  the  next  at- 
tempt means  a  blindfold,  a  cactus  hedge  and  twelve  bul- 
lets.    Get  up  and  get  out." 

Sidi-Malik  got  up  and,  to  everybody's  surprise,  began  to 
sob.  He  pushed  Mokrani  aside,  ran  to  his  horse  and  came 
back  in  a  minute.  Then,  savagely  brandishing  Bou- 
AmeFs  head,  he  threw  it  into  the  bassour. 

Djeilma  received  it  on  her  knees  and  screamed,  wild  with 
terror.     Sidi-Malik  spat  at  d'Ornano's  feet. 

"I  go  now,"  he  declared  impressively.  "Inshallah!  I 
have  learned  to  despise  the  Rumis.  Who  saved  thy  life 
in  Marakesh,  Sidi  d'Ornano?  Who  led  thee  across  the 
desert  ?  Who  went  in  quest  of  thee  last  night  ?  Shall  I 
after  all  this,  be  threatened  with  death,  be  sat  upon  and  be 
called  a  beni-kelb?" 

D'Ornano  softened  at  once. 

"The  beni-kelb  was  not  for  the  friend,"  he  replied,  "but 
for  the  murderer.  The  man  who  saved  my  life  can  have 
all  that  is  mine.  But  I  cannot  harbor  murderers  in  my 
camp." 

"Bono  bezej,  Sidi.  I  shall  wait  until  she  leaves  then. 
Has  she  not  been  unfaithful  to  me?  Whose  fault  is  it  if 
I  am  meskeen  now — if  I  have  lost  all  that  was  mine? 


SIDI-MALIK  COMES  INTO  HIS  OWN  441 

Whose  fault  is  it  if  I  suffered  the  torment  of  salt  ?  Did  she 
not  come  near  causing  the  death  of  Sidi  Leitoun,  Akh 
Arbi?  Is  she  not  herself  a  murderer.  Where  are  thy 
bullets,  then?  Allah  Kerim,  why  should  I  be  deprived 
of  my  revenge  ?  " 

u  Because  it  is  enough  to  come  here  with  Bou-Amers 
head.     Besides,  she  saved  my  life  last  night." 

Sidi-Malik  looked  at  Leyton  for  confirmation  of  the  in- 
credible news.  Plainly  he  was  disturbed.  In  a  few  words, 
the  painter  told  him  the  story  of  d'Ornano's  escape. 

"But  why  did  she  save  him?"  he  questioned. 

Leyton  smiled  and  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Ask 
Djeilma,"  he  said. 

Sidi-Malik  did  not  ask.  Instead,  he  made  the  survey 
of  the  surroundings.  The  camels  made  the  first  claim  on 
his  attention,  then  the  eunuchs.  After  that  he  lost  himself 
in  the  contemplation  of  Djeilma's  jewels.  He  saw  a  great 
light. 

"Was  she  captured  or  did  she  leave  Bou-Amers  camp 
before  the  fight?"  he  asked  again. 

"She  came  here  with  Sidi  d'Ornano  before  the  fight." 

There  was  a  silence.     Sidi-Malik  was  thinking. 

"Sidi  d'Ornano,"  he  resumed  suddenly,  "I  cannot  be 
made  a  khaid  if  I  commit  murder,  can  I?" 

"Of  course  not,"  the  Corsican  replied.  "But  why  a 
khaid?  I  thought  it  was  thy  ambition  to  become  chief 
of  the  native  police  in  Marakesh  ?" 

"I  want  to  be  made  a  khaid." 

"For  what  reason?" 

"As  a  chief  of  the  native  police,  the  Jews  of  Marakesh 
will  always  be  complaining  to  the  Sidi  Governor  that  I 


442        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

have  robbed  them  of  their  goods.  If  I  become  a  khai'd, 
Si-Hamza  will  protect  me." 

" Good  Heavens,  man!"  d'Ornano  exclaimed.  " Did  it, 
by  any  chance,  enter  thy  head  that  thou  couldst  be  made 
a  khaid  among  the  Ouled-Sidi-Sheiks?" 

"Yes,  Sidi." 

"A  Berber  lording  it  over  Arabs  of  great  tent;  a  Philis- 
tine master  in  Jerusalem !     Maboul  enta,  Sidi-Malik  ?  " 

"No,  Sidi,  I  am  not  crazy." 

"But  the  khai'ds  of  the  Ouled-Sidi-Sheiks  are  all  de- 
scendants of  the  Prophet.  Si-Hamza  may  be  a  friend, 
but  he  will  never,  for  thy  sake,  go  against  the  will  of  his 
people." 

"He  will,  Sidi.     I  will  make  him." 

"Still  even  he  could  not  obtain  for  thee  the  consent  of 
the  officers  of  the  Bureau  Arabe" 

"But  nothing  is  impossible  to  thee,  Sidi  d'Ornano. 
Will  not  the  French  soon  make  thee  a  lieutenant-colonel  ? 
Thou  wilt  remember  that  I  brought  thee  the  head  of 
Captain  Monnier's  and  Captain  Trafaeli's  murderer." 

The  argument  was  so  irresistible  that  d'Ornano  laughed. 
Again  Sidi-Malik  looked  at  Djeilma.  To-day  the  camel- 
driver's  thoughts  were  decidedly  interesting. 

"Will  Djeilma  be  allowed  to  leave  thy  camp  with  all  her 
goods?"  he  inquired. 

"She  will.     She  can  go  whenever  she  pleases." 

"Revenge  is  a  duty  of  the  Bled-es-Sibla,"  resumed  Sidi- 
Malik,  who  appeared  lost  in  speculation.  "All  of  you 
know  that  I  speak  the  truth." 

D'Ornano  nodded.  Better  than  anybody  present,  he 
understood  the  duty  incumbent  upon  the  man. 


SIDI-MALIK  COMES  INTO  HIS  OWN  443 

"  But  a  Berber  can  take  blood  money  instead  of  revenge," 
continued  the  camel-driver  tentatively. 

"I  know  that." 

"  M'leh  kateer,  Akh  Arbi!  Thou  speakest  good.  Let 
Djei'lma  repay  me  for  my  losses,  and  I  will  give  her  the 
aman,  the  mezrag  and  the  anaia." 

Again  d'Ornano  laughed.  "  Wilt  thou  let  her  go  free  ?" 
he  asked,  also  tentatively. 

But  Sidi-Malik  flared  up  in  indignation. 

"Free?"  he  exploded.  "Free?  ...  No,  Sidi.  She 
would  buy  freedom  with  the  very  apples  of  her  eyes. 
Who  but  Franzawi  fools  would  let  a  woman  go  about 
freely.  If  I  went  away  now  and  came  back  in  five  min- 
utes, I  would  find  her  dancing  before  thy  soldiers.  Free  ? 
Macash!" 

"Then  thou  wilt  take  her  back  and  give  her  the 
anaia?" 

"I  will  take  her  back  with  all  her  goods.     Yes,  Sidi." 

"But  what  will  Djeilma  have  to  say?"  laughed  Gisele. 
"She  might  at  least  be  consulted.  Is  this  a  divorce  court 
or  a  horse  market  ?" 

"  Oh,  Djei'lma  will  not  mind,"  replied  d'Ornano.  She 
told  me  last  night  that  whoever  brought  her  Bou-AmeFs 
head  she  would  take  for  a  lover,  even  if  he  was  the  brother 
of  Satan,  the  stoned.  Don't  you  think  Sidi-Malik  is  ugly 
enough  for  any  devil  ?  " 

"But  Sidi-Malik  won't  keep  her." 

Her  glance  interrogated  the  camel-driver.  Sidi-Malik 
declared  with  serene  impudence : 

"  I  shall  give  her  to  Si-Hamza.  Thus  shall  I  become  a 
khaid  among  the  Ouled-Sidi-Sheiks." 


444        IN  THE   WAKE   OF  THE   GREEN  BANNER 

"And  it  will  be  right,  Inshallah!"  snapped  the  Circas- 
sian. "Si-Hamza  will  take  me  to  Paris,  and  I  shall  weai 
French  hats,  like  the  cousin  of  Sidi  Lei'toun." 


THE  END 


>     OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 


ifokH^ 


YB  33417 


